Microscope Envy
by Laurelin the Pale
Summary: Molly allows herself to daydream while watching Sherlock's fingers caress the dials of his microscope. What happens when he catches her staring? Now with more than one chapter.
1. Chapter 1

Two weeks had passed since Sherlock's return to London after his yearlong absence, and he'd fallen back into his routine as if nothing had happened. The only indication he gave that anything unusual had happened, or that he'd been away at all, was a quiet pause on his way out of the lab the first night he'd been back to ask her for bodies. As he walked out the door, he hadn't even turned around to look at her. "Thank you, Molly, for helping me, and for keeping my secret. Let us say no more of it," he'd said, clearly finding the words difficult. It was more gratitude than she'd ever expected.

"You're welcome," she'd finally gotten out, but by then, he was gone. Now they both pretended that none of it had happened. Perhaps it was easier for both of them. After all, Sherlock didn't do sentiment. There were many times that Molly wished she didn't either.

Molly watched Sherlock's fingers caress the dials on the microscope with a combination of envy and desire. The delicate attention that he paid to that piece of lab equipment made her yearn for those fingers on her skin, touching her in the most intimate places until she moaned and cried out his name. It made her feel like a voyeur when she was able to work up the courage to just stare at him as he worked. Normally she could only steal glances at him, afraid that he would notice, and if he did, he would know what she was thinking. But this time there was no case, no murderer to catch, only one of Sherlock's esoteric experiments, so she felt free to indulge her imagination. Counting the number of bacterial colonies on petri dishes, three hundred of them, for the third time that evening, just didn't seem as important as the man sitting fifteen feet from her.

"Molly," her name rolled off his tongue and sent shivers up her spine. That slightly disapproving tone, where his voice dropped low at the start of her name, was the one that haunted her fantasies. It had the same sensuous and breathy quality that she imagined he would use as he ordered her to spread her legs, to give him access to her most sensitive spots, and to tease her until she cried out his name.

"Molly." Sherlock said again, this time from directly behind her. She had been too lost in her own imagination to notice that he had moved. She startled and tried to turn around, desperate to think of some excuse for her behavior so he wouldn't know she had been thinking of all the wicked things she wanted him to do to her, but his hands descended onto the table on either side of hers, effectively capturing her there without touching her. "I asked you twice for those results." She could feel his breath stir the wisps of hair near her ears, and the heat radiating off him on her back. "Is there some kind of problem?"

"No… of course not. I was just…" She was afraid to try to turn around with him so close, even as badly as she wanted to touch him. Normally, he made her feel so insecure, so flustered, she couldn't even get a coherent sentence out, but having him this close made her completely unable to think.

"Just what?" His voice was steady and slow. "You have been having an increasing problem focusing on your work since my return. You are daydreaming. What have you been thinking about, hmmm?" He closed the distance between them until his chest and pelvis were pressed against hers. "And do not lie to me, Molly. I will know."

"Why…what…are you doing, Sherlock?"

He sighed. "Were you not paying attention again? I asked you a very simple question." He let his fingertips slowly slide over the back of her hands, then up her forearms. "What are you thinking about when you are supposed to be working?"

His hands reached her shoulders before she answered, "The microscope. I was thinking about the microscope."

His short chuckle confirmed his disbelief. "Really? The microscope? What about the microscope had you so…" he reached down, those deft fingers unbuttoning her lab coat, "aroused?" He slowly pulled the coat from her shoulders, down her arms, and tossed it on a nearby chair.

"I dunno," said Molly, desperately trying to think, but failing once Sherlock's arms encircled her waist and pulled her tight against him.

"It seems you require corrective action for both your attentiveness to the data and your ability to answer me honestly." His lips hovered just over her right ear as he spoke, and the desire to lean her head into them was overwhelming. She nodded in response to his statement and used the opportunity to make that contact. His lips were soft and slightly moist, his breath hot as it caressed the sensitive skin of her earlobe. "Then we shall begin. If at any time, even now, you feel that you have the ability to go back to your work with renewed focus, simply say so, and the lesson will be over."

Molly realized he was giving her the power to stop him whenever she wanted, but she didn't want him to stop, or move away, or return to ignoring her. He waited for her to speak, but she answered him by closing her eyes and relaxing in to his embrace, allowing his strong arms to support her. She could feel him smile as he placed feather-light kisses over her earlobe and then down the side of her neck, before retracing the path up to her ear.

"Good," he breathed. "Now, Molly," he said in that voice, making her shiver slightly, "What were you thinking about in your daydream? And I do expect you to be quite specific. You are a scientist, after all." One hand supported her around her waist while the other came up to stroke her cheek, encouraging her gently to rest her head back against his shoulder. Molly complied immediately. "Keep your eyes closed, and tell me."

He kissed the pulse point in her neck, and she was sure he could feel how fast her heart fluttered. "I… ah…." She stammered, unable to think past how good it felt to finally have his lips against her skin.

"Tell me," he softly commanded, stopping his assault on her neck and remaining agonizingly still as he waited. Molly knew he wouldn't resume until she answered him.

"I was thinking… about… you."

"Obviously. Were you merely appreciating my intellectual endeavors, or was it something more?" His free hand brushed against the outside of her breast, still covered by her shirt and jumper, but it was so much closer to her skin than she'd ever thought he would be. It made all the muscles of her pelvis clench in anticipation.

"More. Please," she was nearly begging.

"Tell me what I was doing in this little fantasy of yours. Was I touching you? Tell me, Molly."

"Yes," she breathed the word out as an answer and an encouragement. "You were touching me… undressing me."

His fingers reached for the buttons of her jumper and he made a show of opening each one as her eyes followed the progress. "And?" He encouraged her with small kisses along her neck as her jumper dropped to the floor.

"And you were kissing me."

Sherlock leaned her backwards enough to capture her mouth, teasingly at first, then with more enthusiasm as she responded. His tongue forced its way past her lips to taste her, swallowing her quiet moans. "Like that?"

"Yes… but… not just... there." Molly surprised herself by saying that, but the fact that he was kissing her and undressing her at all made her bold. She may never have another chance, as he'd never shown the slightest interest in her sexually before. "You were kissing me… everywhere."

"Mmmm. You are greedy, aren't you?" His hands pulled her shirt free of her baggy trousers and his warm fingers explored the newly-revealed skin. "Close your eyes, Molly, and keep them closed."

She complied as he pulled the thin shirt over her head, then his lips and tongue descended on the taut skin of her upper back, skirting around her practical and unadorned white bra. She wished she'd worn something sexier, but she never expected her darkest fantasies to come true. His kisses covered her entire back to her waist as she shivered against him. He finally turned her around to repeat the process across her chest and belly, all the while avoiding the areas she craved the most. She tentatively reached up to run her fingers through that thick, curly hair, finding it softer and thicker than she ever imagined.

Sherlock only tolerated her touch for a moment. "Put your hands behind your back, Molly."

"Why?" She felt so exposed without her usual layers of clothes, while he was still fully dressed, and then she remembered that he thought her breasts were too small.

"Do it or I will stop." He wasn't teasing now. The seriousness in his voice as he paused, hovering just over the skin at the top of her left breast, made her open her eyes and look down at him, but she couldn't see his eyes. He was just waiting.

Molly dropped her hands to her sides, then moved them to her back, lacing her fingers together. "Good girl," Sherlock said, resuming his exploration. "Keep them there until I tell you otherwise, understood?"

"Yes," she whispered, begging him to continue as she closed her eyes again.

"Now tell me, in your daydreams," he dragged his fingertips over her nipples, still concealed by her bra, causing a delicious tingling sensation to travel from her nipples straight to her clit. "Did I have you completely naked?" He popped the button at her waist before she could answer.

"Yes, completely." Sherlock lowered the zipper very slowly, then allowed the trousers to pool at her feet. She stepped out of them without being asked, and Sherlock slid them out of the way with his foot. Molly had never done anything this scandalous in her life. Someone could come and see them, she thought, and she suddenly opened her eyes and looked at the door nervously. "Sherlock?"

He moved behind her again. "Close your eyes. It is two o'clock in the morning, the door is locked, Lestrade always calls before he comes in with a body at this hour, and no one else with a key will even arrive at the hospital for four hours. We are alone. Trust me, Molly."

"I do." She closed her eyes again and if on cue, Sherlock popped open the clasp of her bra, sliding the thin straps down and off her arms, which she returned to their position behind her back without being asked.

"Very good, Molly." His voice alone felt like silk rubbing up and down her spine. "And I was mistaken," he said, tracing the backs of his hands up her ribcage, then delicately across both bare breasts, "your breasts are perfect." He teased her by avoiding her sensitive nipples until she was shaking with desire.

"Please, Sherlock."

"Please what? Please stop? Please go on? Please touch my nipples? You'll have to be more precise."

She leaned back against him and surrendered. "Please touch my nipples. Please pinch them, and…" He barely touched the hardened points and she gasped. Being forced to keep her eyes closed only heightened the pleasure.

"Mmmm," he purred against her ear. "They're very sensitive, aren't they?" He closed the thumb and index finger of each hand around a nipple and slowly increased the pressure until her whole body tensed. He didn't back off, he just held her there like that, barely tugging back and forth on those sensitive buds. The exquisite pressure was almost too much, and her brain warred between calling it painful and intensely erotic. Molly felt his eyes roam all over her body as her muscles shook slightly and a small cry escaped her lips. If the bulge she felt grind against her backside was any indication, he very much liked what he saw as he held her captive.

After what seemed like minutes, Sherlock released her nipples suddenly, and she took deep gasping breaths in between moans as the pain and pleasure there intensified for a few seconds, the blood flow returning to her sensitive peaks. He moved around to her front quickly, and soothed each one by lapping with his tongue slowly, but never giving her the suction she craved. Nearly frantic with desire, Molly swayed slightly in his arms, small whimpers escaping her lips with increasing frequency.

"I think I could make you cum just by sucking on your nipples," he said, his breath felt cool over the wet peaks. She was struggling to keep her hands behind her back, and even to stay standing. "Keep your eyes closed, and your hands where they are, Molly. You don't want me to stop now, do you?"

Her nipples ached and she desperately wanted to feel him inside her, even one of his long fingers would be enough to make her cum right there. "No, God, please don't stop. I'll do anything you want, just don't stop."

She could feel his smile as he kissed a circle around each nipple. "Good, Molly, very good. I'm glad you grasp the essence of our lesson. Now tell me how you like your nipples sucked."

"Soft at first, but then harder." She cried out quietly as his mouth finally latched on, building the intensity slowly as his hands gripped her ass to keep her still. "And teeth. I want to feel your teeth." He sucked harder, then let his teeth graze over the hardened tip. "More," she begged. He bit down, adding pressure until she bucked her hips. He repeated the attention on the other side, leaving her nipples throbbing and her hips thrusting towards him repeatedly as she was desperate for release.

Sherlock's hand grabbed the front of her underwear and pulled upwards sharply, causing the wet, tight material to crush against her clit, and she cried out. He pulled the fabric side to side roughly as he bit down on one nipple and pinched the other between his fingers. The orgasm overwhelmed her and Molly came screaming, but he didn't let up the pressure until she was hoarse and her knees finally gave out.

Effortlessly, Sherlock picked her up and carried her into her office, setting her down in her oversized desk chair.

"Sherlock?" She opened her eyes frantically and tried to take his hand. "Don't go. Please." She hated him to see her so desperate, but she knew she would never be able to look him in the eyes again if he left her here like this.

He leaned in close and placed a gentle kiss on her lips. "I'm not going to leave you. I don't think you've really learned your lesson yet, have you?" His eyes were dark as he took her wrists and positioned them on the armrests of the chair. "Close your eyes for me, and don't move your hands."

"But I want to see you, touch you…"

"Not this time, Molly," said Sherlock carefully, shaking his head and lowering himself to his knees in front of her. "Would you prefer I find something to bind your hands? And perhaps blindfold you?" When she hesitated a small smile betraying her desire, she could feel the amusement in his voice. "So you'd like that, would you? Naughty girl. I will remember that." He took on a slightly more commanding tone, though not harsh. "But for now, do as I say, or tell me that you would rather return to your work." She closed her eyes and relaxed her body back against the chair, because most of all, she didn't want him to stop touching her. He traced his fingers up the insides of her thighs and hooked them under the thin strips of fabric at her hips. "Molly," he purred at her as he pulled them down and off of her legs, leaving her completely bare.

She felt the gentle pressure of his hands on her knees as he kissed up the insides of both of her thighs. "In your fantasies, do you open your legs for me? Do you let me taste you?"

"Yes. God, yes. And your fingers…" They were already on her thighs, slowly working their way up to where she really wanted them.

He barely brushed them across her dripping wetness and it felt like an electric shock went through her. She'd wanted him to touch her this intimately for so long. "What about them?" His lazy circles around her clit made her thrust her hips upward, trying to increase the pressure, but Sherlock moved his hand away. "I'm waiting, Molly."

"You put your fingers inside me, and you…" A long finger parted her folds, then slowly, so slowly, pushed its way into her. She wanted to move, to force him in deeper, but she knew if she tried he would only deny her. She accepted that he would set the pace, and it was strangely liberating not to feel responsible for reciprocating. Since she had to keep her eyes closed and her hands still, all she could do was tell him what she craved and focus on the pleasure he gave her. It felt so lewd, being naked and spread open for him while he was still completely clothed, using his hands and mouth all over her body. She settled for imagining him nude in her mind as she had many, many times before. "You use your mouth on my clit until I cum, screaming for you."

Sherlock eased her knees apart further and settled himself between her legs, but she sighed in frustration when he removed his finger from inside of her. "Patience, Molly," he said as he reached underneath her thighs to grasp her hips, then pulled her possessively down to the edge of the chair. Her legs were draped over his shoulders, the soft material of his shirt rubbed deliciously against the back of her thighs.

He blew lightly over her hypersensitive skin, teasing her until she couldn't deny her need for contact. "Please touch me. Please," she begged him, finding it incredibly difficult to keep her hands still when all she wanted was to pull his head against her.

"I do like hearing you beg for my touch," said Sherlock, finally giving her what she craved. He used his thumbs to part her folds wide, then he coated his fingers by rubbing them from her opening up to her clit, then back down several times. Molly arched her back in an unconscious attempt to deepen his contact. "And you're so very wet for me." He teased her with several more strokes, and Molly could feel how slick his fingers became.

"Yes. I've waited so long for you."

Sherlock spread his hand just above her pubic bone and pushed down firmly, but not uncomfortably, while the other hand pressed against her left inner thigh to keep her spread open for him. Molly felt like every nerve in her body was on fire waiting for his touch. When he finally lowered his head, his tongue caressed her in broad strokes, taking the same path his fingers had previously. She might have bucked him off from the pleasure if he hadn't been holding her hips down, and the sensation of being trapped there between his hand and his mouth, unable to cover herself or deny him, made her tilt her head back and cry out for him.

Another wave of wetness drenched his face from her spiraling desire, but rather than be embarrassed, Molly felt empowered by his reaction. "You taste so sweet, Molly. You are mine, from now on." His long, slender finger worked its way inside of her tight channel, then thrust in and out slowly. "And you are so perfectly tight." He pushed his thumb against her clit and she nearly came from the brief contact. "You will not permit anyone else to touch you or taste you from this moment forward. You are _mine. _Do you understand?" A second finger joined the first and the delightful stretching sensation caused her to try to move her pelvis again, but he held her still, his tongue lightly brushing against that swollen bundle of nerves. "Do you understand?" he said more forcefully, backing up the statement by pressing down onto her pelvis more firmly, keeping her still under his tongue.

"Yes, yes, _yours_," she gasped, his tongue finally working her clit firmly, licking her most sensitive spot in quick circles. "I only want to be yours, Sherlock." He smiled against her dripping folds and rewarded her by taking her clit fully into his mouth and sucking gently at first, then increasing the pressure as she panted and dug her fingernails into the arm rests of the chair. He spread his two fingers slightly as he worked them in and out of her, bringing her closer and closer to the edge, her head thrashing back and forth as she forced her eyes to remain tightly closed. "I'm so close. Please…" The pleasure pooled low in her pelvis, she felt her internal muscles clench against his fingers, and she forgot everything except the feel of his hands and his mouth on her.

"Not yet, love. Fight it a little longer," said Sherlock, the dark desire evident in his silky voice. He worked a third finger inside of her, stretching her walls open further as his mouth worked frantically on her clit.

"I can't. Please… please…" Molly begged him with abandon, opening her legs further so that they rested against his upper arms instead of his shoulders.

"Mmmmm," Sherlock moaned against her clit, which he also grazed with his teeth. "You are so beautiful like this, Molly. So beautiful." He lapped at her clit and stilled his fingers, holding her at the precipice while the muscles deep inside of her clenched relentlessly around him. "You are right there, aren't you?"

He moved just enough to keep her suspended on the precipice for a few more agonizing seconds. "Yes, please, more, I need…"

"Now, Molly. Cum for me now," he ordered, knowing she would have no choice but to obey. Sherlock rotated his right hand so his palm was facing up, then curled those three fingers against her G-spot, and rubbed circles over it as he pushed into her fully, burying his fingers up to the base. He licked her clit once more, right over the spot where he could feel his fingers pushing up from underneath, and her orgasm ripped through her. All of her muscles convulsed as he coaxed her higher, not letting up with his mouth or hand. She felt time slow down, the world reduced to the delicious pressure and the velvety voice that urged her on. "That's it, Molly. Don't hold back. Let me hear you scream."

After what seemed an eternity of holding her breath, riding the orgasm, Molly cried out for him, thrashing her body in the chair and desperately clutching the arm rests. She didn't want him to stop. She needed him. She screamed his name between her short, needy gasps for breath as each wave of pleasure continued to force its way over her. When she finally stilled, too exhausted to move, Sherlock gave her one last gentle kiss over her clit and removed his hand from her abdomen. His lips brushed across the area where he had held her down as if in apology. Molly expected him to remove his fingers from inside of her, but he slowly started moving them once again, thrusting in and out of her again.

"Sherlock? What…"

"Keep your eyes closed and your hands where they are, Molly." His tone was serious again. Clearly he was not finished with her. His thumb moved to her clit and rubbed gently, but she was too sensitive. She tried to evade his fingers, but there was no escape from his relentless touch.

"I don't think I can, Sherlock. It's too soon."

"Oh, sweet Molly. I look forward to showing you how wrong you are," he said, adding more pressure to her clit and increasing his pace. He shifted position and licked her left nipple before covering it with his mouth. Slowly increasing the suction as he ran his tongue along its tip, he continued to thrust his fingers into her. Quite unexpectedly, she felt a new rush of warmth pool low in her pelvis, and she unconsciously lifted her hips to meet his hand. Sherlock released her nipple and kissed her deeply on the mouth, his tongue invading and dominating hers in the same rhythm as his fingers. She could taste herself on his lips, and she set about licking them clean as Sherlock expertly worked her past the hesitation and sensitivity until she clenched around him and moaned. She could feel herself getting close again, which both surprised her and seemed to make her lover quite happy. "You've been a very good girl, following my instructions so well. I love watching you cum, but this time, it will be with my cock buried deep inside you."

Molly knew he was giving her the chance to object, while at the same time, Sherlock knew she would not deny him. Not while she was so soft and pliant like this. "God, yes," Molly moaned, her brain warring between the tenderness of her well-used clit and the intense pleasure he was building, all the while wondering if this was really happening to her, mousy little Molly Hooper, who Sherlock barely noticed. Now she was writhing under him, begging him to take her. "I need you inside me. Please don't make me wait."

The characteristic ripping sound of a condom wrapper was her answer, and a moment later, Sherlock slid his fingers out of her slowly. She felt so empty suddenly and she ached for him, desperate to open her eyes and see him as he took her. She wanted to watch his cock thrust up into her, slide out, then push back in harder. "Don't open your eyes," he said sternly, as if he already knew what she was thinking. She just nodded.

Soon, she felt the tip of him sliding up and down through her dripping wet pussy lips, just as his thumb flicked more rapidly over her clitoris. Her breathing sped up as she spiraled towards another orgasm that she was completely helpless against. All at once, Sherlock drove his cock into her, covering her mouth with his as she cried out to him. He'd stretched her beautifully, but it was barely enough, as Molly felt herself impaled on his thick shaft. She'd never been with anyone who filled her this completely, almost painfully so.

"Relax, Molly, let me have you." He began to slowly thrust into her, then pull almost all the way out, before sliding back in again. "That's it. Good girl," he said, increasing the pace, grinding his pubic bone against her as he finally bottomed out. "I'm all in the way inside of you now," he leaned down and whispered into her ear, claiming her mouth again. "Give in to it, Molly, give in to me." He gripped both of her hips and pulled her down onto him forcefully with each thrust of his hips.

"I'm so close. Please, Sherlock. Please…"

"Cum for me." He bit down on her right nipple and she shattered, screaming and clawing at the arms of the chair. His last few strokes were deep and fast, then he came hard, biting down on the side of her neck, marking her. The pain, the feel of his cock throbbing inside of her, and the sound of his moans as he came made her orgasm harder and longer than she ever had. Sherlock swallowed her screams, his mouth covering hers completely, and she felt totally possessed by him. Stranger still, she liked it. It felt right.

Sherlock wrapped his arms around her and rested his head on her shoulder as their breathing calmed. He held her close for a time before he eventually raised his head to her ear, his voice reverent and filled with emotion. "Thank you for trusting me, Molly." He kissed the side of her neck tenderly where his mark was already forming.

The change in his mood, how he seemed almost vulnerable, made Molly think that their little game was somehow over. Slowly, she moved her arms off of the chair, careful to give Sherlock time to notice and object if he wished. She very slowly embraced him, understanding how delicate the moment was for both of them. He tensed briefly at her touch, but then relaxed again with a contented sigh while she held him for several minutes.

"One last time now, close your eyes. Let me take care of you," he said finally.

"Okay." Molly didn't have the strength in her body to move anymore, and she certainly didn't have the strength of mind to deny him anything.

He kissed each of her closed eyelids lightly, then pressed his lips chastely to hers. "I will be back within two minutes. Do not worry. I will come back."

She nodded and he finally slid from her body, leaving her feeling achingly empty, and then he was gone. Molly sat up more in the chair to relieve the pressure on her back which she hadn't noticed before, and she realized how sore she was between her legs. She smiled. She wouldn't have it any other way. It was Sherlock who had made her sore. He made her cum three times in a row, a record for her, and it was hands down the best sex of her life, even though it was not exactly romance, flowers, and a four poster bed. It was Sherlock. The man she had wanted, no… needed, for three years. The man she loved so desperately.

But Molly knew his complexity, and how this could well be something that he would choose to never acknowledge or repeat. She wasn't sure how she would handle that. Sherlock was not exactly the "boyfriend" type, she realized, and she found herself wondering if this was just his academic curiosity, or even a means of dismissing his biological urges so they would not get in the way of what was most important to him, which was his work. Molly knew she could never compete with his true love: solving the puzzles of people, evidence, and details. He already had her figured out, she told herself, and it wouldn't be long before he tired of her. All she could do was cling to hope for a few more days, or at most, weeks, before he discarded her. She desperately hoped it would be weeks, but she admitted the possibility that it was already over. She wouldn't blame him when the time came, she knew. He was who he was, and she was, well, shy Molly, the quiet pathologist.

Molly was so lost in her mind, she didn't even hear Sherlock come back in the room. His strong arms lifted her and quickly resettled her in his lap as he swapped positions with her in the chair. She allowed him to part her legs slightly, and a warm, wet cloth brushed over her tender folds. It was soothing and strangely more intimate than she expected from him. When he finished, he brushed his lips over hers, setting the cloth aside as he covered her with a warm, thick blanket and held her close. She briefly wondered where the blanket came from, not having anything like that in the morgue, but as she rubbed her face against it she realized how much it smelled like him. Then it dawned on her that she was naked in Sherlock's coat, the same one that featured prominently in her frequent fantasies, and her worry lifted somewhat. She tried to relax, letting her head rest against his chest as she resolved to enjoy every ounce of pleasure and comfort he would allow her before the end.

She must have dozed off, because she woke to Sherlock's hands stroking her bare back, his whisper tickling her ear. "Molly? It's time to wake up. As amusing as the thought is, I think you should greet your colleagues wearing something other than just my coat this morning." Molly opened her eyes and had a moment of panic, looking around for any sign that there were, in fact, other people in the morgue. Sherlock laughed. "No worries, you have at least an hour before anyone else arrives, but just in case." He helped her sit up and she winced slightly, a fact that didn't escape Sherlock's notice. "I'm sorry if I hurt you," he said with an obvious tinge of regret.

Molly opened her eyes and looked up into his face, but Sherlock turned away quickly. She reached her hand up to his cheek and gently pulled him back. "I'm not sorry, Sherlock, not about any of it. You were amazing. And I don't mind the soreness. It reminds me that this wasn't a dream." She felt tears start to form. His eyes searched hers, but it went on for longer than necessary for him to verify her sincerity. She broke the silence first, fearful of what he might have seen as he tried to peer into her soul. "You don't have to say it, Sherlock." She started to get up, but he held her waist. "I understand if this is just a one-time thing. I know you don't really want…"

"But I _do_ want. For the first time in fifteen years, I do _want_. You." Molly could see him waiting for the rejection, because it was a look she was all too familiar with in her mirror.

She pulled him into a kiss that would wipe the sadness from his eyes. "You're all I've ever wanted," she whispered to him while she covered his face with soft presses of her lips, "since the first time I saw you. It's only ever been you, Sherlock. I've always been yours."

He devoured her mouth until they both were forced to come up for air. "I don't want this to be the only time, just the first of many," he said, holding her tightly, nuzzling against the side of her neck. The relief for them both was palpable.

A few minutes later Sherlock helped her dress and gave her the water and crisps that he'd retrieved for her earlier. She was touched as his newfound and unexpected thoughtfulness. When she was finished, he took her hands in his, and said his low, silky voice, "John is away in Manchester on a case. Come home with me, Molly."

She smiled and grabbed her bag from her locker, feeling the delightful ache between her legs, and she wondered what other surprises Sherlock might have in store for her. Molly scribbled a note to her boss saying she was leaving an hour early as she didn't feel well, but then she remembered Sherlock's experiment. "What about your data, Sherlock? The project you were working on… before?" She stared at the mess of petri dishes.

"That?" He waved off her concern. "I was finished hours before you started daydreaming." His devilish grin said it all.


	2. Chapter 2

A/N: This chapter contains light but very consensual bondage. You have been warned. Now go enjoy the smut and please review!

Chapter 2

"Sherlock?" Molly asked tentatively.

"Not in the taxi. We'll discuss it at home," was all he said to her during the ride, but he did hold her hand and brush his thumb across her palm gently. When she looked disappointed, he leaned over and whispered in her ear, "I will reward your patience, Molly," in the voice that sent shivers of anticipation up her spine.

When they arrived, Sherlock held the door for her while he rested his hand on the small of her back. It was such a simple, casual touch, but still possessive in a way that made her heart flutter. While she settled herself at the kitchen table, he put the kettle on but said nothing for ten minutes while he fixed a breakfast of eggs, bacon, and toast. She had grown used to Sherlock's silences but this was different. There were a hundred different things she wanted to ask him but she didn't know how or where to start, and it seemed wrong to interrupt him while he was working. He'd never tolerated that well.

Sherlock put two plates down at the table, and Molly was grateful for the distraction from the awkward silence, which Sherlock broke just as she picked up her fork. "Are you waiting for permission to speak?" he asked inquisitively.

The thought really hadn't crossed her mind, but maybe it should have. "Um… I dunno. Do I need it?" She took a forkful of egg and sighed with delight. They were very good and she had no idea how hungry she'd become until that first bite reached her mouth.

"No," he said carefully, never taking his eyes off her. "Not right now."

"Will I in the future?"

"That remains to be seen. If we are to continue, it may happen occasionally that I will instruct you not to speak without permission." He watched as his words sank in. "Would that bother you?"

"I… I don't know. I don't understand any of this. Why now? Why like this?"

"I have very specific tastes, Molly. As you have noticed, I like being in complete control. I chose not to acknowledge those urges for many years, but since my near-death, I have decided to alter that plan." He finally started eating, but seemed to derive little joy from the food, and instead focused his attention on her.

"Why?"

"Because I missed you while I was away, and because I know that I can trust you."

Molly put her fork down. "I hope that you've known that for years." She'd lied for him, violated hospital rules by giving him body parts in bulk, and broken the law when she helped him fake his death. This trust issue shouldn't be news to him.

"Molly," he took her hand in both of his and held it carefully as he looked her in the eyes. "Trusting someone professionally and trusting someone with your deepest desires, your most intimate of secrets, those are two very different things. I trust you with everything."

"Um… thank you. That means a lot to me," she said, trying to suppress the desire to cry. She couldn't be sure they would be tears of happiness. "But, ah… why should your… I mean…. What about John?"

"What about him?" Sherlock resumed eating.

"Does he know?" There was no way she was going to ask outright.

"Oh, I see," he smiled and handed her the tea he'd put in front of her moments ago. "I have never had an interest in John or any male sexually, if that is what you were referring to. He believes I am married to my work, as it were, and besides, I have not taken a lover for fifteen years."

Molly sipped her tea as she pondered the implications. "Why not? Surely you could have had any number of..."

"I only want you."

In spite of her best efforts, Molly blushed. All of this was too good to be true, though she adamantly refused to acknowledge the fatal flaws inherent in the construction of their new-found relationship.

"Now eat the rest of your breakfast," he said kindly, then his voice became lower and more sensual. "If you want to continue what we started in the lab, you're going to need your strength."

Molly stared at him wide-eyed but Sherlock didn't miss the dilation of her pupils. She did her best to finish every morsel of food while Sherlock took great pleasure in watching her mind play through the possibilities. "What exactly did you mean...specific tastes? I need to know what I'm getting myself into here."

He studied her for a moment, feeling himself harden while he watched the combination of innocence and wanton curiosity play across her face. "I told you, I like being in control. I want to take you to new heights of pleasure, ones you can't even imagine right now, but on my terms, exactly how, when, and where I desire." He smiled when she shifted slightly in her seat.

"So you're, what… a dominant?"

He seemed pleased that she knew the term. "Yes, and I very much enjoy it when you are submissive to me." She looked up at him, obviously unsure of herself, or of him momentarily. "Molly," he admonished her, "it's not like that. I want you to give me your trust, like you did at the lab today so beautifully. You _gave_ me control of your body, your mind, your orgasms. I didn't force you. You could have told me to stop at any moment and I would have, immediately. You see the difference, don't you?"

"Yes, I just don't know how comfortable I am with the word… submissive." She took another sip of tea and nervously looked anywhere but right at him.

Sherlock got up from the table and moved to her side, sinking down to his knees and taking her hand with one of his, and with the other he gently cradled her cheek. She leaned into his touch. "Molly. At no time will we do anything that you don't want. I only have the control because you choose to gift it to me, but I have the feeling that I can show you a great many things that you don't even know you want…yet. But you will always be safe with me." She nodded in spite of how completely terrified she felt. If this was the only way she could have Sherlock, she would do it. The alternative was unthinkable. As if sensing her trepidation, Sherlock said, "Do you know what a safe word is?"

Molly closed her eyes and tried to calm her breathing. It was almost impossible to think while he touched her. His hands were warm and slightly calloused but his touch was tender, gentle. "I'd rather you explain it so we are both on the same page. I always feel like you are three steps ahead of me in every conversation, and I don't want to be lost."

Sherlock smiled and kissed the back of her hand. "It's a word that we agree on, preferably now, that you can say whenever you feel uncomfortable or want me to stop, and I will stop. It ensures that _you_ are the one really in control the whole time."

"Well, normally… I'd just say 'stop'."

He stood and pulled her up with him, wrapping his arm around the small of her back with a mischievous and knowing glint in his eye. He leaned down to her ear, letting her feel his breath warm on her skin before whispering, "There's a reason I won't allow you to use that word, Molly. When you beg me _not _to stop, and you will beg for me, I don't want any confusion."

A shiver of pleasure ran through Molly's body, as if it remembered what it was like to have him push her over the edge into ecstasy three times. "Just tell me the word, Sherlock. I can't even think right now." She leaned forward and wrapped her arms around him lightly, standing on her tiptoes and burying her head in the crook of his neck, breathing in his masculine scent.

"Very well. For now, it will be 'red'. If you want me to stop completely, you will say 'red'." His voice became more commanding. "Do you understand, Molly?"

She hated to admit it to herself, but this was the Sherlock she wanted. Assertive, firm, and in control. "Yes."

"Then say your safe word now, just for practice. I need to make certain you can remember it… when you are otherwise occupied," she loved the promise he held within those deceptively simple words. His fingertips traced a line up and down her spine that made her shiver.

"Red," she said as his strong arms encircled her waist and he pulled her against him with a very self-satisfied smile. There was no point in pretending. She had always wanted to please him in every way. Why should this be any different?

"Very good. Now understand that I will never be angry with you for using your safe word, but I would like you to trust me, and not use it unless you are certain it is something you cannot handle. I can read every nuance of your body language," he said as he kissed the side of her neck lightly, "so I will know if you are having a problem." He sucked on her earlobe as he continued, "but you may also ask me to slow down at any time if you need to." His breath tickled her as he whispered into her ear.

Molly took a deep breath and relaxed into his arms. "I've always trusted you," she said, trying to steady her voice. It was still difficult to believe that this was even happening, that Sherlock wanted her, after all the years she'd spent pining for him. She'd almost given up hope. Almost. "What do you want me to do?"

"Molly," he purred into her ear in that voice that always made her knees weak. "Just follow my instructions. We'll go very slowly. Don't be frightened." She nodded but didn't dare look up at him. Her heart was already beating so fast that she thought she would have an arrhythmia before he even kissed her again. He rubbed his fingertips across her back soothingly. "Relax, Molly," he said, holding her as if she were the most precious person in the world. "I will take care of you."

"Okay," was all she could manage. God, he smelled good and he wanted her. She was terrified of doing something wrong that would make him change his mind, saying something he would consider stupid, or that he'd know just how unworthy she felt to even touch him.

"Now close your eyes." She could feel him pull back enough to ensure her compliance.

Molly complied, but she blamed the scientist part of her brain for her question. "Why?"

"First of all, because I asked it of you. Second, because it helps you relax." He led her by the hand slowly towards what she knew was his bedroom. "When you see my eyes, my face, you worry that I am judging you harshly, which could not be further from the truth, I assure you. In the lab, as soon as you were free to just feel, to just accept what I was doing to you without the obligation to reciprocate, you were able to let go of all of that and enjoy yourself. Quite thoroughly, if I recall." She could feel herself blush at the memory. Sherlock turned her around. She could feel the edge bed against the back of her thighs, but he made no motion that would have indicated his desire for her to sit. "Oh, sweet Molly," he said, a warm, low rumble of pleasure emanating from his chest as he took her into his embrace. "You would blush even more deeply if you had any idea of all the delicious ways I intend to make you moan, and shudder, and scream my name in pleasure."

Before she could react, his mouth descended on hers, lightly at first, but soon his tongue demanded entrance, which she eagerly granted. Trusting him like this was easier than she thought. He devoured her, leaving her breathless and weak, but his strong arm around her waist held her tightly in place against him. Her hands initially rested lightly against his chest but then slowly moved to his back as she became more comfortable touching him. Sherlock pulled her shirt over her head, and helped her with the buttons on his.

"Don't open your eyes. Just feel. You're safe here." She felt him step away.

"Sherlock?" She instantly tensed.

He returned to her a few seconds later. "Breathe," he whispered, his hand warm on her upper back, soothing her with small circular motions of his thumb. "That's it. To make it easier for you, I'm going to put a soft blindfold over your eyes." He brushed a piece of fabric across her upper back that felt like velvet. It felt positively sinful against her bare skin. "Tell me if it frightens you and I will remove it. It should not be tight or uncomfortable." He continued to tease her by letting the silky material glide over the tops of her breasts, then her neck, and she found herself unconsciously rubbing her cheek against it.

Molly nodded and Sherlock placed the material over her eyes. It was soft but stretchy, so it both fit comfortably and blocked her vision completely. It was one less thing she had to remember as he slid her bra down and off her arms, and for once she was glad she couldn't see his reaction. His comment about her breasts being small still made her feel momentarily insecure.

"May I touch you?" She asked, hoping she had not overstepped.

"If you like." There was a hint of something in his voice, but she couldn't place it. She thought she'd learned to read Sherlock's subtle emotions over the years, but this time without being able to see him, she wasn't certain. He distracted her from that line of thought by enveloping her hands in his larger ones and bringing them to his chest. Once she felt bold enough to explore all of that bare, smooth skin, his hands trailed up her arms then down to her breasts. While his touch was feather-light, when he brushed against her breasts she couldn't suppress a shiver. It was a response he mirrored when her fingertips reached his nipples. She leaned forward and kissed and licked the surprisingly soft skin of his chest, trying to cover every square inch by feel, knowing the velvet of her blindfold as it followed her motions would provide another layer of sensation, one he clearly enjoyed given the involuntary thrust of his hard cock her thigh. It made her feel strangely powerful, knowing how easily she could affect him, especially after the years she spent thinking he was completely indifferent to her.

With his satisfied, breathy laugh in her ear, Molly admitted that in spite of her hesitancy with Sherlock's sexual appetites, she would give him absolutely anything he wanted as long as he kept touching her, wanting her. "I find it very arousing to watch you respond so beautifully to my every touch." Molly smiled happily, if only slightly self-consciously. He rolled her nipples between his fingers, slowly increasing the pressure, and she could feel his eyes on her, gauging her reaction and waiting to see if she would please him. Finally, when the pleasure started to flirt with the edge of pain, she gasped and leaned into his body, resting her head on his chest, but making no move to evade his touch or alleviate the pressure. "Oh, Molly, you are absolutely exquisite. You really are a natural submissive." He held her there, suspended at that point, his tight hold on her increasingly hard nipples never wavering, all the while murmuring words of encouragement to her. "That's it. Breathe. You are so beautiful like this," he whispered against her mouth before he kissed her again.

When he finally released her, she gasped for air as her nipples throbbed, quite unexpectedly, in time to her clit, and she could feel her moisture soaking into her thin cotton knickers. Sherlock sank to his knees in front of her and held her to him with his arms around her hips. After his tongue soothed the lingering soreness away from her extra sensitive nipples, his head moved lower to lick across her stomach, occasionally allowing himself to nip gently at her flawless skin. A rush of warmth settled low in her pelvis and she whimpered at the delicious torture of his mouth, all while his hands massaged her ass, promising even more intimacies.

He slid her pants and knickers down to the floor and she kicked them away, then his lips discovered a point on her lower abdomen, in the hollow of her left hip that was both ticklish and incredibly arousing. He moaned in delight at the discovery, the deep vibrations sending further pulses of heat directly to her core and causing her wetness to leak onto her thighs. Molly's hands on his shoulders were the only things that kept her from falling as she tried simultaneously to avoid and encourage the insistent press of his lips there until she finally cried out in frustration. Sherlock refused to relent. He held her still as she struggled, mercilessly kissing, sucking, and dragging his teeth along that hypersensitive spot and its match on the opposite side. Just when she thought she couldn't take any more, he gently but insistently pushed her thighs apart and slid two long fingers inside and his thumb massaged small circles over her clit. She took long, ragged breaths between the constant streams of moans that escaped her lips, punctuated by short cries of pleasure each time he thrust into her, his fingers hitting her G-spot with just the right amount of pressure.

His mouth stopped for only as long as it took him to speak. "Are you ready to come for me, my sweet?" Her muscles clenched around his insistent fingers, her juices now coating his hand, and she threw her head back as the first tremors of that more intense pleasure threatened to overwhelm her. "Answer me or I will stop…" His voice held that edge of command that thrilled her, the one that she had so quickly learned to associate with her orgasms.

Molly laced her fingers into his hair as she held onto him for dear life. She was barely able to keep from falling over as it was. "Yes. Please make me come. Please…Sherlock…."

"Then come. Now," he demanded just as he captured one of her nipples with his mouth and sucked hard enough to push her over that precipice. Her world exploded into white static and all she could hear was his name escaping her lips again and again as his fingers kept up the pressure on her clit until she collapsed against him, completely unable to stand.

Sherlock lifted her into his arms effortlessly and deposited her onto her back on the cool, silky sheets. She still felt like she was flying, weightless, when she heard him shed the last of his clothes. He slid up her body slowly, touching her everywhere with his hands and lips, lingering over her overly sensitive clit and lapping at her core until she unconsciously began to grind her hips towards him. "Mmmm," he hummed, "someday soon we will find out how many times in a row I can make you come with just my mouth." The thought of Sherlock devouring her for hours on end until she begged him to stop, which he would undoubtedly not do until he had pulled at least one more orgasm from her, made every muscle in her body convulse and she arched her back off the bed. "Oh yes. I see you are as impatient for that experiment as I am."

He reluctantly pulled himself away from her sweetness, but soothed her with soft kisses across her pelvis, then abdomen, as he slowly moved higher. He finally settled himself between her so willingly-parted thighs, but denied her the contact she wanted. She reached down to touch him, but his hands found her wrists first, and he held them loosely in one of his palms. She could have escaped his grasp, but she acquiesced to his unspoken demand before she realized what she had done. She relaxed into his grip and tried a different tactic. "Please, Sherlock, let me touch you." He had been so giving with her since the start that she felt very selfish for not returning the favor. She also desperately wanted to feel his hard cock in her hand and between her lips, to taste him and make him moan uncontrollably.

"Soon, Molly. As much as I love to hear you begging for me so sweetly, I think you will have to earn that privilege, don't you?" He could see the trepidation cross her face, even with the beautiful dark green velvet hiding the innocence of her eyes. He placed her hands on his back, moaning softly when she drug her nails across his skin, but once his hand found her clit again, she abandoned all hope of figuring him out. He masterfully built her pleasure while his lips ghosted over her the side of her neck, then her ear. "Do you remember your safe word?"

She hesitated for only a second before she replied. "Yes. What are you…" He cut her off by grinding his pelvis against her, letting her feel how hard and heavy his cock had become.

Interlocking the fingers of both of his hands with hers, he slowly pulled her arms above her head, giving her a chance to object if she chose. Instead, he felt her purposefully relax beneath him, giving him unspoken permission to continue. "Very good, Molly. You are absolutely stunning like this," he said, sounding quite pleased. He left her hands there for a moment while he reached even further above her, and she took the opportunity to kiss along the side of his ribcage. His low laugh let her know she'd found a ticklish and very sensitive spot but that he wasn't upset with her presumption. "I'll let you get away with that this time, love." More of that soft velvet caressed her hands and then her forearms, and she found herself smiling. Every physical sensation was heightened without her sight. She felt pampered and adored by the man she loved. He wrapped the fabric once around each wrist, the placed it across each of her palms. "Now grasp the velvet in your hands and pull down gently."

She wasn't sure what he was trying to do, but she did as he asked. She quickly realized that the other end was tied securely to his headboard, or maybe the wall. "If you feel uncomfortable with being restrained, all you have to do is say your safe word or open your hands and pull them down. You are not tied securely, _this time_, my sweet Molly," he kissed her deeply, trying to allay some of her fears. "Try it now."

She hesitated for a moment before loosening her grip, allowing the material to slide through her hands, when she realized that the fabric was actually a loose circle. The ends were secured somewhere above her, but all he had done was wrap her wrists once in the generous loop. The only thing holding her there had been her grasp. It had actually felt…good. Safe. She released the breath she had been holding and without being asked, extended her arms again. "Thank you," she whispered as he helped her "secure" her hands.

"Oh, don't thank me yet." He ran his hands down her sides then back up, and she could swear she heard him growl just before he took her breasts in his hands, pinching her nipples firmly before his head descended to her neck. He devoured both sides, then her breasts, making her moan and grab onto the velvet more tightly to keep her hands from being dislodged as she thrashed. It helped to have something to hold onto, even though she preferred it were Sherlock himself. He moved back to the base of her neck, where it joined her shoulder, and he sucked hard, marking her until she cried out and bucked underneath him, and then for a moment longer. She knew she would have a dark and obvious bruise there that would show him, and the world if she decided not to cover it, that Sherlock was her lover.

At the same moment he released her neck, he pressed two, then three fingers into her. "God, Sherlock, I need…" She wrapped her legs around his waist, trying to bring him to her.

"Tell me." He took her left nipple into his mouth and bit down slightly. She strained against the bindings on her wrists. "Tell me," he said again, more sternly.

Molly's movements were erratic as she thrashed her head back and forth against his pillow. "I need you inside of me. Please. I'm so close," she begged him with her voice as well as her body, all the while gripping the velvet in her hands, showing him how desperately she wanted him and how eager she was to please him.

She moved so shamelessly under his touch, Sherlock thought he might come before he got the condom on. It took every ounce of his willpower to hold himself back for a few more seconds as he committed the image of her to his mind palace; _his _Molly, writhing and begging him to take her. He knew he would revisit this moment there many times and he wanted it to be perfect. When he was satisfied, he nudged her knees wider, and slowly slid his cock home. "We fit together perfectly, don't we? You and I both know this was meant to be." He pulled nearly all the way out, then pushed back in harder, feeling her walls stretch to accommodate his size as he bottomed out fully, eliciting a long, shuddering moan from her that made his cock twitch.

He raised himself up onto his hands and easily tugged the blindfold away. "Look down, Molly. Watch as I make you mine, as our bodies join." He pulled the pillow farther down so it was under her shoulders, allowing her a perfect view of his cock sliding out of her, slick and so very wet, before he pushed his way back in and ground his pelvis against her clit. It was the most erotic thing Molly had ever seen or felt. "Watch me, my eyes." He took her faster, his arm underneath her as he lifted her hips upwards to meet his, allowing him to go deeper. He abandoned any shred of control he had previously maintained. "Come with me. Come with me now, Molly. Don't look away." With one more hard thrust of his hips she was lost.

Molly's entire world narrowed down to the feral intensity of his gaze, the carnal possessiveness, and was it love that she saw in his eyes as her orgasm crashed over her? It stole the breath from her lungs and the feeling from her limbs but she gave herself over to the pleasure and to him. It was in that moment that she knew for certain Sherlock owned her, body and soul, and she wouldn't have wanted it any other way.

For Sherlock, the sight of her writhing underneath him, her inner muscles clenched tightly around his cock while she gave herself to him, and only to him, quickly led him to his own release. The high seemed to go on forever as he emptied himself into her body, and he knew he could never again be without her. He had missed her more and more each day during the enforced absence that followed his fall. He knew he didn't deserve her, but he had always been selfish, and never more so than when he dared to hope that she would stay with him forever.

Sherlock finally collapsed on top of her, completely spent. Once he had the strength to roll off, he discarded the condom quickly and returned to Molly's side. He allowed his fingertips to travel the length of her outstretched arms and settle into her palms as he kissed her tenderly. "It's time to let go, love. You did beautifully."

She relaxed her grip on the velvet and he slid the soft material off her wrists, draping soft kisses across the areas it had touched. He massaged her shoulders and arms briefly as she lowered them, then he covered them both with the satin duvet. Once he felt secure that she was relaxed and happy, he pulled her body against him fully and kissed the top of her head. Molly snuggled into the warmth his chest with a deeply contented sigh. Sherlock could get used to that sound, he thought, as sleep took them both.


	3. Chapter 3

A/N: A big thank you to NayruSapphire, MorbidlyDefault, Empress of Verace, SciFiRN, Calicar, Vermil, and Rocking the Redhead. I appreciate the kind reviews. This chapter is light on the smut, but it will return next chapter.

Chapter 3

Hours later Molly stirred slightly in her sleep from Sherlock's gentle kisses on her shoulder, the heat of his body pressed against her back, and his leg thrown over hers possessively. His hand rubbed slowly up and down the smooth skin of her stomach, memorizing the feel her, the smell of her hair, and the sound of her small whimpers as she tried to return to what must have been a very pleasant dream. She had been sighing and whispering his name, a small smile playing across her lips while she slept, and he couldn't help feeling a sense of pride in being able to so-pleasantly invade her dreams. He had never been as content as he was at that moment, he realized, holding Molly in his arms. She looked happy, relaxed, and sated. Never before had he experienced such a deep need to protect and care for a sexual partner like he did with Molly, but then again, he had never been with anyone that he gave a damn about. Yes, he could appreciate the sexual release as a means of relieving stress or simply for the heroin-like endorphins released during the act, but in the end, it had always been about money or information; always a means to an end. She was… different. It both thrilled and frightened him.

When he'd been alone, so completely alone, for those two years after he jumped, he had quite unhappily discovered that he disdained his loneliness for the first time. In the past, he had been alone for years, always careful to keep others at arm's reach his whole life, but somehow, John, Molly, and Mrs. Hudson had managed to breach his defenses. It had nearly cost them their lives. The only reason Moriarty hadn't threatened Molly was that Sherlock had been very careful to make it clear to all that she meant nothing to him. If only he could have brought himself to do the same favor for John and Mrs. Hudson. They would never have seen it for the kindness it could have been. He'd never had anyone in his life who could forgive him for, well, being himself.

He had to give Molly credit. It had only taken her a few months to realize who and what he really was. He had been forced to give up the false flattery once she saw through it, but yet her body language towards him did not alter. Her pupils still dilated, she still tucked the stray hairs near her face behind her ear when he entered the room, and she still smiled at him. Molly had been there for him at a time when no one else could, or would, and even after two years without a word from him, she welcomed him back with the same shy, innocent offer of her unconditional friendship. And now this. She so willingly gave him her body, her mind, her trust, and if he read the signals correctly, her heart. He had no idea what to do with her love; this was an area of his plan that he obviously had not thought through thoroughly. It would seem his subconscious must have played a role in that omission.

What did it feel like to love another? He'd deleted all the pop-culture references to it as unimportant. The definitions he retained focused on the irrational: motivation for violence, murder, revenge, theft, blackmail, and unreasonable self-sacrifice. The one thing he knew for certain about love was that it could become hate in the time it took to utter a single word, making it an incredibly dangerous emotion, which is why he had shunned it so thoroughly. He'd never understood why others had not simply blocked it from their minds as he had.

But now he began to understand. He had made the conscious decision to allow himself to feel something for Molly because he knew she would never voluntarily violate his trust. She had proven herself and of that fact, he was certain. He allowed himself to feel because it would make her happy and he didn't want to see her hurt anymore, and certainly not over him. What he did not count on was how happy he could feel from something as simple as holding her sleeping body in his arms or waking up to find her still in his bed. The thought of being separated from her, even when she would inevitably have to return to work, caused him actual physical pain in his chest and stomach.

Was this love? Was it this pain that drove people towards all sorts of undesirable and uncontrollable acts just to relieve themselves of it? Sherlock knew he would kill without hesitation to protect Molly, but then again, conventional societal rules had never applied to him in his own mind. He was a sociopath. However, he found himself not entire adverse to certain actions that previously only garnered his contempt when he saw them carried out by others. If it pleased her, he would buy her flowers, take her to a candlelit dinner, hold her hand in public, or allow her to cry on his shoulder. Worse yet, he _wanted_ to be there to comfort her, to soothe away her pain, and yes, to kill any bastard who dared to lay a finger on her.

Sherlock realized he really did want her to be _his_ completely, and not just during their sexual encounters. He wanted to demand that she abandon any attempt at dating other men. He could learn how to fulfill all of her needs, couldn't he? Molly could teach him what she needed just as he would teach her about the pleasures of the flesh.

Most of all, he didn't want to be alone anymore. He didn't want Molly to be alone anymore. With that acceptance, he began searching his mind palace for every interaction he had ever had with Molly, re-examining the nuances of her words and body language. What he planned to do required a considerable amount of data.

While he lay on his back, his fingers steepled under his chin, Molly watched him. He was lost in his mind palace, looking more handsome than ever. His chest was smooth and pale, but with a slight golden hue from the afternoon sunlight filtering through his drapes, and he was every bit as elegant and intelligent in his appearance as she expected. She had tried to whisper to him once, but she knew he didn't like to be disturbed while he was thinking. Long ago she had stopped taking this behavior personally; it was just part of who he was. And she loved all of him.

She carefully climbed off the bed, grabbing Sherlock's discarded shirt from the floor and buttoned it around her for a quick trip to the loo. Mrs. Hudson would surely have a stroke if she saw Molly naked in Sherlock's flat, and Molly was fond of the woman.

Molly eyed the oversized claw-foot tub with longing, but she opted for a quick shower as she feared Sherlock would come to his senses when he reemerged, and it was too presumptuous of her to assume he would approve of her lounging in his tub. Efficient and practical. That's what Sherlock would expect from her.

What Molly didn't expect was to see her brand of shampoo, conditioner, and soap, all obviously new, waiting for her in the shower as if Sherlock knew she would be staying over. She supposed he did. He was apparently brilliant at far more things than she'd ever dreamed, she thought with a blush as she stepped into the steaming water. She ached all over, but not unpleasantly so. Her body had been well-used and in quite an enjoyable way, though she was a bit tender between her legs. No one had ever made love to her as thoroughly or as often as Sherlock, and she feared she would be ruined for all other men forever. The more she thought of it, she already was, from the first day she laid eyes on him in the lab.

She knew she should be deliriously happy at the moment, but it was bittersweet. He would eventually tire of her, or she would fail to meet his high expectations… or he would find a case to occupy himself and he would entirely forget about her. It was inevitable, she knew, so she decided to make the most out of her time with him while it lasted. She enjoyed the feeling of the hot water against her skin, resting her forehead on the cooler tile, while she steadied her nerves and her heart.

Wrapping the towel around her hair, she paused at the mirror to admire the deep purple mark he had left on her neck, just above her collarbone. It was tender, but not unpleasant, and she found she strangely liked the memento. She brushed her teeth with the new toothbrush (her brand, of course) that he had left for her, then combed out her wet hair before putting Sherlock's shirt back on, pressing her nose to the inside of the soft fabric. It smelled like him, which made her shoulders shudder slightly and a tingling spread down her spine and into her pelvis. No human being should ever smell that good. It was a wonder he wasn't attacked by hordes of screaming women on the street on a regular basis, she thought with a smile as she headed out to the kitchen to make some coffee. At least for a time, she was _his_, and she was determined to enjoy every last moment.

Feeling somewhat like she was trespassing, Molly rummaged around in the kitchen cabinets for the coffee and sugar, ignoring the various body parts and experiments. She might be the only woman in London who wasn't bothered by such items occupying her lover's refrigerator, she thought with a smile, but she still couldn't find the coffee. Surely he drank coffee outside of Bart's? With relief, she heard the click of a door behind her, meaning Sherlock was no longer lost in his mind palace.

"Where do you keep your coffee? I found the sugar, but…"

She heard something heavy being set down. "Third cabinet on the left? And you are?" That wasn't Sherlock's voice.

Molly hesitated for a second before turning around, smoothing down Sherlock's shirt, grateful that it reached nearly to her knees. "Um, hello, John."

"Molly? What are you doing here?" His eyes raked over her before she could answer. "And why are you wearing Sherlock's shirt?" His eyes lingered on her neck before looking away. He'd seen the mark there, but his expression said he was thoroughly confused as he hung up his overcoat, then an idea crossed his face. Molly was still too stunned to speak. "Everything alright at home?" He retrieved the coffee and added it to the machine. "Bad breakup? I didn't realize you were seeing anyone."

"I… I… ah…" Sherlock wouldn't want anyone to know about them. She quickly tried to formulate the details of the breakup that John had suggested.

"It's okay. I don't mind Mrs. Hudson letting you in. She and I have told you before, Molly, you're always welcome here," John said, smiling kindly at her. "After I have a cup I'll go round your place and get you some clothes. I think it would mess with Sherlock's delicate sense of order if he knew you were wearing his shirt." John set the milk and sugar down on the table and poured them each a cup. "Where is Sherlock anyway? Off on a case? He wasn't answering my texts this morning."

"I was occupied with more pressing matters, John," Sherlock said from the doorway, wearing only dark blue silk pajama bottoms, his chest bare, with a slight smile playing at the corners of his mouth. He was really enjoying this, Molly thought. Too bad she wasn't. Well, at least not until Sherlock came over to her and put his hand around her waist and pulled her gently to his side. "The sight of Molly in my shirt very much conforms to my 'delicate sense of order'. It suits her, don't you think?" He kissed her right over the mark he'd left before, making her close her eyes as she unconsciously offered him her bared neck.

The crash of shattering coffee cups brought them out of their private moment, and Molly giggled at the look on John's face.

Sherlock raised an eyebrow at his friend. "Is there a problem, John?"

"I leave for one day. One day, Sherlock! When I left you were married to your work and now you two are shagging?"

"That's a rather vulgar term for what we've been doing, but I suppose if it adequately fits your mental representation of…"

John interrupted Sherlock before he could launch into a further linguistic analysis. "Can I talk to you in private, Sherlock?" He picked up the broken cups and put them in the trash.

Molly seized the moment to evacuate before their argument began in earnest. "I was just going to go get dressed anyway," she said, but before she could step out of his embrace, Sherlock leaned down and whispered into her ear so only she could hear, "wait for me in my bed, on your back with your legs spread wide, and wearing nothing but that shirt. I won't be long." Too embarrassed to even answer, she tiptoed out of the room and left the two men alone.

They both watched her go, then turned to face each other again. John picked up the broken cups and put them in the trash, then mopped up the spilled coffee. Sherlock merely got out another cup and poured himself coffee, not bothering to look back at John until he settled himself at the table and stirred in his sugar. John had several false starts, trying to find the correct words, but his disbelief kept getting in the way. "So how long has this been going on?"

"Twelve hours and fifty-three minutes," Sherlock answered, trying to keep the amusement out of his voice.

John sat down at the table and smoothed his hands over the surface. "Sherlock. Molly is a kind, gentle woman, and you are using her for whatever physical needs you've finally discovered, but you have no idea what you are doing to her."

"On the contrary, I know _exactly_ what I am doing to her."

"I'm not talking about sexually, Sherlock… wait, but you… you…I thought you were virgin?"

Sherlock smiled at John's obvious discomfort. "It would seem that rumors of my purity have been greatly exaggerated, though I had feared my skills would be rusty from years of disuse. I think Molly would disagree, if the five orgasms I've given her in the last twelve hours are any indication."

"Oh my God, now my ears are bleeding." John held up his hands in mock surrender. "You know that's not what I meant."

"Please go ahead and say what you do mean, then. I suspect Molly is waiting anxiously for me to return to the bedroom."

John's face became very serious. "She loves you, Sherlock. She really loves you. You can't just use her like this then toss her aside when you're bored."

"I have no intention of ever 'tossing her aside'." He was equally serious.

"So, what then? You intend to marry her? Settle down and have a family?" John was certain that for once, his friend had not thought through the implications of his actions.

"If that makes her happy, yes."

"Exactly, which is why you… wait, what?"

"I will do whatever it takes. I want her to stay with me. I admit that I have considerable trepidation regarding fatherhood, but my understanding is that it is inappropriate to discuss such things barely thirteen hours into our relationship. However, given Molly's age, it's likely that if she does desire to be a mother, that she will wish to begin that process within the next year or two. She is no doubt aware that advancing maternal age increases the risk to her as well as a fetus, and…"

"You can't be serious, Sherlock. Until tonight, you led me to believe that you were completely asexual. And Molly has made it very clear that she has been attracted to you for years, yet you barely acknowledged her existence as a human being. You didn't see her, after you died, or 'left'. Apparently she always knew you were alive, thank you very much for not telling me, by the way, but she was absolutely devastated. You can't put her through that again, ever."

"I love her."

"Do you even know what that means?" John asked quietly.

"I'm trying, John." He meant it.

John's voice gentled. "Just talk to her. Be honest with her. Okay? I'm your friend as well as hers. I just want you both to be happy."

"Thank you. May I seek your advice periodically on this matter? As you are engaged to be married, it would seem your experience has outpaced mine."

"You're on your own with the sex, Sherlock, but I'll do my best with matters of the heart. Women may be the ultimate mystery for us both, though." John smiled at his best friend. Maybe he really could become a great man, as Lestrade had once suggested.

John stood and patted his friend once on the shoulder, before picking his suitcase up from where he'd left it by the door. "Since I don't think my delicate ears can tolerate being in the same flat with both of you shagging all night, I'm going to Mary's. I'll be home around eight, since I need to get ready for work. Do try to make sure both of you are dressed this time."

"That shouldn't be a problem. Molly has to be at work at seven. We will both be dressed by six thirty-five, though keeping her dressed through her shift may be difficult."

John opened the door and walked through, not bothering to look back. "Ears bleeding, Sherlock," he said, closing the door behind him.

Sherlock smiled and headed to the bedroom.


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter 4

Molly sat on the edge of the bed, still trying to process what she overheard. It was ridiculous. Sherlock Holmes didn't fall in love with anyone, least of all her. This was just a mental game followed by a physical release. Maybe he intended for their friends-with-benefits arrangement to continue, but who was she kidding? Were they even friends? He certainly didn't love her. She'd accepted long ago that he would never love her. Anything she thought she saw in his eyes, in him, was either a clever trick or a fallacy created by her mind to soothe the ache in her heart.

Clearly, Sherlock lied to John, perhaps to prevent John from feeling any obligation to defend her, but more likely, that Sherlock found it easier to have a flat mate who didn't argue with him. That had to be it. Convenience. If John thought Sherlock loved her, then he wouldn't have to face John's questions, his disapproval, or worse, his disappointment. Molly stared at the floor, rehearsing in her mind what she would say to John when the time came, all the ways she would perpetuate Sherlock's lie to keep his secret. That was how she was most useful to him, wasn't it? Keeping his secrets?

The feel of the bed sinking down next to her forced her out of her thoughts unexpectedly. Sherlock hesitated, the palm of his hand hovering just over the center of her back, uncertain if he should touch her. He knew she had heard most, if not all, of their conversation, and he could feel the doubt creeping into every crevice of her mind.

She surprised him by leaning into him and resting her head on his shoulder, taking his hand in hers. "It's okay, Sherlock. I won't tell John the truth. You're right, of course. It's better if he thinks…"

"I didn't lie to him, if that's what your insinuating."

"You don't need to lie to me too. Not anymore. I've waited so long for you to look at me that way, to want me, that I will take you any way I can get you. I can handle this being just a physical thing between us." Even as she said it, they both knew this was the real lie.

"What if it means more to me than just sex? What then, Molly?" He turned her hand over, so he was the one doing the holding. Her small hand fit so perfectly inside of his larger one, he thought to himself.

"Sherlock, please don't. Please. I won't stop sleeping with you just because you will never love me. I'll stay with you anyway."

Sherlock placed his hands gently on her cheeks and pulled her towards him, barely brushing his lips across hers, hoping this touch would speak for him. He rested his forehead against hers, then held both of her hands loosely to his chest and closed his eyes, taking in a slow, deep breath as he did so. "I _am_ in love with you, Molly. If you no longer feel the same for me, then it would be kinder to us both to end our relationship now. I know you believe I'm not capable of love, and perhaps you are correct as I have no frame of reference with which to properly evaluate my feelings, but I'm asking you for the opportunity to try. I missed you constantly while I was gone," he said, placing a kiss to the palms of both of her hands. "I want to make this right for you, for us. Please, Molly," he pleaded quietly.

Molly sniffled, then took two deep breaths to calm her nerves. "Really?"

Sherlock pulled back and looked into her eyes. "Really."

Finally, she nodded and smiled that sweet, innocent, shy smile that Sherlock loved so much. "I love you, too."

"I know." He slid his arms around her and pulled her down with him to the bed, kissing her hard enough to take her breath away. Grinding his pelvis against her, he settled himself between her legs and forced her wrists down firmly on either side of her head. She immediately relaxed, relishing the feeling that she was the only one who could bring out such animalistic desire in him, desire she desperately wanted him to indulge to the fullest.

"You are _mine,_ do you understand?" His voice was dark and intense, possessive to the extreme. "You will always be _mine_. Say it."

"I'm yours, I'll always be yours," Molly breathed into his mouth, pushing her hips up to meet his, desperate for more contact. She couldn't help herself; she tested his grip on her wrists, but it was like pushing against solid steel. She loved being at his mercy. She gave in to him knowing that he would take care of her. He would always take care of her.

"No one else is allowed to touch you ever again. Do you understand? You will not even masturbate without my permission. I want you always wet and ready for me," he thrust against her hard enough to make her groan, "and only me." She wrapped her legs around him and pulled him closer. God, he knew just the right way to move to bring her so close the edge, and she could tell from his breathing that he was close as well, in spite of the fact he was still wearing his pants and they'd barely started. Her shirt, well, his shirt, was over her hips, which left her bare against that rough fabric and it rubbed deliciously against her already-tender folds. That small amount of discomfort seemed to only heighten her pleasure.

"Make me come, Sherlock, please."

"I do love hearing you beg for me, Molly. You have no idea what it does to me." He drug his teeth down the side of her neck, then bit down on the dark bruise he'd left there previously, thrusting his hips against her harder each time, then rotating them against her clit.

Her head thrashed back and forth, desperate to simultaneously escape from his teeth and surrender herself to his bite. With one final, deep thrust, hard enough to push her up into the headboard, they both came. He swallowed her screams of pleasure as he covered her mouth, but he didn't stop rocking against her until they were both completely spent. Only then did he release her wrists, bringing each to his mouth in turn, kissing along the pale expanse where he was certain she would bruise.

Molly encouraged him onto his back as she curled up next to him, her head over his heart and a smile on her face.

Sherlock broke the silence first. "I should have gone more slowly, been more careful."

She looked up into his face and smiled. "You didn't hurt me, well, not in any way I didn't enjoy. And I did enjoy it, a lot. So stop feeling guilty."

He pulled her up and kissed her softly, the relief on his face palpable. "Thank you," he said, hugging her gently, reverently. The held each other in pleasant silence for a few minutes before Molly's stomach growled, causing both of them to laugh. "If you'll order the food, I'll get cleaned up." He gestured to the front of his pants, slightly embarrassed, which Molly found quite endearing. Maybe he really was a human male.

She got up and headed for the kitchen, having found the stack of delivery menus when she looked for the coffee earlier. Settling on the Chinese menu with several circled entrees that were accompanied by high-maintenance notes for substitutions written in Sherlock's neat script, she called and placed an order, hoping that Sherlock would actually eat.

Still wearing his shirt, Molly carefully cleared and set two spots at the cluttered table without disturbing any of Sherlock's experiments, then headed over towards the stairs to find her wallet. Finding her pants was the more difficult task. She heard Sherlock moving around his bedroom but the door was closed. She knocked softly. "Sherlock? I need the rest of my clothes. Can I come in?"

"No," was her only response.

"I cannot answer the door dressed in just your shirt!"

The door opened just enough for Sherlock, still bare-chested, to rake his eyes up and down her body. "I don't see why not. You look ravishing. In fact, after we eat, I think I _will_ ravish you," he said thoughtfully, closing the door again. She knew that look. He was a man with a mission and he would not be deterred. She lingered in the kitchen for nearly ten minutes before going back to the door.

"What are you doing in there?"

"Preparing." He sounded too pleased with himself, Molly thought.

"Preparing what?" Molly sighed and rested her forehead on the door when he didn't answer. She softened her voice but became more serious. "Sherlock? Can I talk to you out here? Please?"

He stepped out of his bedroom and closed the door behind him, careful to make sure he blocked her view of the interior. Molly couldn't help but think he looked like a child who was just told playtime was over. "You don't want to continue." He reached out to her, but stopped himself before he made contact.

Molly closed the distance and slipped her arms around his waist, resting her head against the smooth expanse of his chest. She was relieved when he held her close and kissed the top of her head. "I'm still trying to convince myself that this is really happening and that I'm not going to wake up tomorrow and find out it was all a dream."

He hugged her more tightly. "I want you to wake up tomorrow in my bed completely nude, so I can have you one, no, twice more before you go to work. That is, assuming I let you sleep tonight," he whispered in her ear in that silky, low voice that made her weak.

Molly couldn't help but smile as she turned her head to look up at him, swatting him very gently on the shoulder. "God, Sherlock, you're like a teenager."

"If you're referring to my newly-freed libido, I'm finding it difficult to put that genie back in the bottle, so to speak, especially when you wiggle against me so invitingly," he grabbed her hips and pulled them against his, making her close her eyes and breathe out slowly. Sherlock's low laugh told her he knew exactly how much his touch affected her, and he loved every little gasp and shiver. "But you wanted to tell me something?" Their bodies were now touching from head to toe. Sherlock put his thigh between her legs and used the hand that had migrated to her ass to pull her against it forcefully. As long as he lived, he would never tire of seeing her, feeling her, in that moment when she surrendered herself to him completely.

Molly kept her eyes closed and leaned into him, waiting, wanting. This time, he used both hands on her hips and pushed upwards with this thigh, but she whimpered slightly and bit her lower lip. While he wanted nothing more than to pick her up, throw her down on the bed and take her hard until she screamed his name, something wasn't right. He knew without a shadow of a doubt that she wouldn't protest if he did exactly as he desired, but she was completely his responsibility every time she submitted to him. He slowly pulled back, tilting her chin up with his fingers, knowing where she was mentally. "Molly," he commanded, but not unkindly. "Open your eyes and look at me."

She steadied herself by gripping his biceps and after only a moment's hesitation, she complied.

"Tell me what is bothering you."

"Um…"

"Now," he ordered.

"I'm sore," she looked embarrassed, which made Sherlock smile inwardly. After all they had done, all of the secrets they had confessed to each other, she was shy about such a simple matter?

"I see," he said, not relinquishing his verbal control of her. "Spread your legs for me." Molly looked at him, incredulous, and he saw the barest flicker of rebellion cross her thoughts. It pleased him. She would be a delightful challenge to be conquered over many years, he thought to himself. "Do it now, or use your safe word. Do you remember your safe word, Molly?"

She nodded yes, then slowly widened her stance, but she no longer looked up at him. He again lifted her chin, and kissed her lightly on the lips, then her cheeks, then her forehead. His fingers trailed down her flanks, then her thighs, until they came to rest between her legs. He watched her critically as he licked one finger, then gently touched her opening, exploring until he found the tender areas there and over her clit, satisfied that she had suffered only some mild irritation from his repeated attention. It was nothing that he couldn't work her past if he chose to.

"Nothing serious. In a day or two you will be fine, but in the future, never be afraid to be honest with me. We still have a great deal to learn about each other's bodies." Her eyes brightened as she looked up. "Oh, I see," he said, letting the silk of his deep voice roll over her as his hand cupped her sex. "You will get your chance very soon, Molly. I plan to teach you _exactly_ how I want to be touched…licked…sucked. You're looking forward to those lessons, aren't you?"

"Umm…yes." She knew she was blushing furiously.

Sherlock licked the taste of her from his finger as she watched, fascinated. As he finished, Molly saw his pupils dilate. "Though I confess that I like the idea that whenever you move tomorrow, you will be reminded of how it felt to have my cock inside of you, or my tongue on your clit. From now on, whenever you look around the lab you will remember how I made you come." He could literally feel his words settle into her mind and body as her pulse elevated and her breathing sped up. Tomorrow was going to be delightful. He kissed her deeply, tasting her mouth and savoring her quiet moans as he nipped at her lower lip.

A knock on the door interrupted any further plans Sherlock had at that moment. He quickly shoved some money into the delivery boy's hand without ever taking his eyes off of her, then slammed the door behind him and headed for the kitchen, crooking his finger at her with a devious look about him. "Are you coming?"

"God, I hope so."

Sherlock ate well and encouraged Molly to do the same, trying to pretend he was all business about their meal. "We have a long night ahead of us, Molly. Focus on the protein and hydrate."

Molly did her best, but eventually curiosity got the best of her. "So how did you… um… become so proficient?"

"Am I merely proficient?" he teased.

"You know quite well what you do to me, and just how well you do it." The blush of her cheeks and her shy smile sent his blood straight to his groin.

"The abridged version is that Mycroft cut me off financially when he discovered my addiction to heroin and cocaine, which presented an obstacle to completing my studies at university. I combined my talent for reading people and their situations with my financial need in a way that allowed for maximum profit and a low probability of entanglements with the legal system."

Molly nearly spewed water all over the table. "You were a… gigolo?"

"It's my choice of profession that concerns you and not the fact that I was an addict?"

She'd hit a nerve, one that he had deliberately exposed to her. "Sherlock, I knew about the drug use. You were careful to mostly inject in concealed areas, like your feet and under your arms. I saw them when I examined you… after you fell, but you have a few marks on your arms that I saw years ago. You sometimes roll your sleeves up in the lab. Your nasal septum is also narrow from the cocaine." He wasn't impressed that she had noticed; she did have a habit of staring. What impressed him was the fact that the drug use neither bothered her nor seemed important enough to mention to him. It must have shown on his face, because she added, "but I know you aren't using now, so it's irrelevant."

"I'm not presently a professional dominant either, but yet that does seem to bother you."

"I was just surprised, that's all. I have no right to judge you."

"In case it matters, over the span of two years, I had a total of only three clients, all of whom were quite sad to see me leave the profession when I decided to stop using. There was no one else before and no one since, until now."

She set down her fork and took his hand. "Did you love any of them?"

"No," he answered immediately.

Molly's heart broke for him. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have asked. It's none of my business." She tried to pull her hand away but he held it firmly.

"I'd like it to be," said Sherlock. Molly was speechless at what he was offering her. It was one thing for him to profess his love after several rounds of spectacular sex following a fifteen year dry spell. It was quite another for him to open up about it his past. She had never heard him discuss anything that happened to him prior to the debut of his Consulting Detective career, and she had long ago learned any attempts to inquire went unfulfilled.

She came around the table and leaned forward to embrace him. "Thank you," she said quietly. He just nodded and pulled her down onto his lap and kissed her neck once before resting his head in the crook of her neck as he held her. She knew he was feeling vulnerable, having revealed something so personal to her, and it pained her to see him that way. She offered him a way out. "So what were you preparing earlier? In the bedroom?"

His eyes brightened immediately. "Your punishment, of course."

"My what?" He held her tightly around the waist as she squirmed slightly at the thought.

"You heard me. I gave you an order to return to my bed, wearing only this shirt," which he proceeded to unbutton slowly, "and to wait for me, on your back, with your legs spread." Her breath caught in her throat, and Sherlock's smile told her that there was no escape for her. Not that she truly wanted any. "I cannot let you get away with such blatant disobedience."

"But what… what are you going to do… to me?"

He kissed the side of her neck to soothe her, feeling the pulse beat wildly under his lips. "I'm going to spank you, of course."


	5. Chapter 5

A/N: This is a VERY M-rated chapter, containing consensual BDSM. You have been warned.

Chapter 5

Sherlock carried her bridal-style into his bedroom while she buried her face into the side of his neck, trying to quell the panic that was rising in her chest. She focused on good he smelled, trying to distract herself. Still, there was no way she could get through this; she wasn't sure she even wanted to. She wasn't an idiot, contrary to what Sherlock so frequently told her, so she knew that some people enjoyed this kind of thing… it just wasn't something she ever thought she'd be confronted with and certainly not by the man who populated every one of her sexual fantasies for years. Granted, having sex with a partner that didn't require batteries was the bar for success prior to the lab. A whole new standard had been set in this, as with everything Sherlock did.

The bedroom was lit with a dozen candles giving off a strange masculine scent so similar to Sherlock's that it made Molly wonder if he burned them at other times. The duvet and top sheet had been removed from the bed, leaving only the fitted satin sheet, several lengths of dark green velvet, and a variety of pillows stacked near the head of the bed. It was all so sinfully luxurious, she thought, but then she noticed a long black chest at the side of the bed that she didn't remember seeing in his room before. She shivered, wondering if that's where he kept his riding crops, and whatever else he might use… The memory of how brutally he'd beaten that corpse suddenly came back to her and she thought she might pass out.

She took a deep, steadying breath and it out slowly. Was she really going to say no to him and end the most incredible twenty-four hours of her life? The same day he'd confessed his love? No. She couldn't bear the thought of disappointing Sherlock, or worse yet, being pushed out of his affections for good. Then again, when the logical part of her considered it, he didn't seem in the least disappointed that she had ignored his earlier instructions. If she had to guess, she'd say he was just about as pleased as he could ever be at the thought of her "punishment", which made her wonder just how far he wanted to take his very particular interests with her.

Sherlock sat down, still cradling her in his arms, but she wouldn't relinquish her grasp around his neck. He could feel her trembling. "Why are you frightened, Molly?" Sherlock whispered seductively, his fingertips trailing across her upper arm.

"You just said you were going to… hurt me. Of course I'm frightened."

"No, no, no," he said, kissing the back of her left hand, then the inside of her elbow. "I said I was going to spank you. There is an important difference."

Molly said nothing as the part of her brain in charge of processing mixed signals had apparently gone on an unexpected hiatus.

"This is all part of the game." When she didn't answer, he continued, reassured at least that she hadn't walked out, used her safe word, or told him she wasn't going to play his game anymore. This meant she was curious, which pleased him greatly. "Look at me, Molly," he said, lifting her chin upwards and resettling her on his lap so that they were more face to face. She finally opened her eyes and complied with his request, relieved to see a gentleness in Sherlock's eyes that she hadn't expected. He wasn't truly angry. "You will enjoy this if you relax and follow my instructions, and spanking you will please me very much. If you are a good girl and obey me in this, I promise you that the orgasm at the end of it will be harder and longer than any I've given you so far."

Molly's eyes widened just before that delicate blush settled on her cheeks. Sherlock's cock hardened at the thought of putting an even deeper blush across an entirely different set of cheeks. "Will you be mad if I say no?"

He kissed her lips slowly, gently, waiting for her to give in to him, but her body remained rigid and afraid. He held her in his arms and stroked her back soothingly. "No, of course not, but I'd be lying if I said I wouldn't be disappointed. I was under the impression that you have been quite satisfied with our experiences so far, and there is much, much more to teach you, my sweet Molly." The back of his fingers brushed against her left nipple, sending a small shiver through her that had nothing to do with fear. He was nothing if not adaptable, and a spanking was clearly something she was not ready for mentally. He slowly unbuttoned her shirt as she made no move to stop him. "That's it…relax. Just close your eyes and listen to my voice," he said in that deep baritone that he knew made her wet. "Do you remember your safe word?"

"Yes," she said nervously, "but I'm scared."

Having finished the buttons, he pushed the shirt off of her shoulders, leaving her completely bare to him. "I know, but I will take care of you," he said, nuzzling her neck. The tension in her muscles eased with his unhurried touch as he stroked her until small sighs of pleasure escaped her lips. "Do you want me to blindfold you?"

She had no idea why, but she nodded yes. Maybe he was right, that it helped her enjoy herself, maybe she just didn't want to see his face if she disappointed him. Sherlock reached behind him on the bed then wrapped the velvet over her eyes, securing it behind her head. He then put her wrists together in front of her and bound them with another piece of the soft material, but unlike last time, she couldn't just release her grip and be free. Granted, she was certain she could wiggle out of the binding with some work if she wanted to, it just wouldn't be as quick.

Molly could tell that Sherlock held the ends of the fabric in his hand, because he encouraged her to lay face up on his lap with a gentle but insistent pull, stretching her hands above her. She felt him arrange several pillows underneath her body, ensuring that she was comfortable and that she would not strain her back. Once he was satisfied, he began his deliberate exploration of her body, starting with her neck, then her breasts, but he carefully avoided her nipples even though she arched up against him. His fingertips danced across her stomach, making her squirm when they reached her flanks and she tried to avoid the ticklish sensation. Her motions on his lap drew a low moan of pleasure from deep in his chest.

Sherlock cupped her left breast in his hand then flicked his thumb over the hardened tip. "You like that, don't you?" He rolled the nipple between his fingers before she had a chance to answer with anything other than a moan, increasing the pressure until he reached the point where he knew the sensation would overwhelm her, where he could let her just feel instead of think. Her head sank back as he took his time repeating the process on the other side, kissing and nipping at her neck as he did so. He finally lowered his mouth to taste and tease her nipples, adjusting the intensity of his actions until she was panting and squirming for more. He merely tugged her hands more forcefully above her head, making her extend her arms out straight, but not painfully so. He tied the end of the velvet to his headboard, effectively immobilizing her upper body and pushing her chest out, further exposing her breasts. He knew the position and the restraints would help her finish her inevitable surrender to him.

Finally, with a long and deliberate exhalation, Molly relaxed and gave herself over to him. He loved the palpable change in her body; she seemed softer, more pliant, and utterly irresistible. This was how he imagined her in his fantasies, how she appeared to him in that secret, hidden room of his mind palace.

Molly swore she could feel him studying her reactions for a few seconds before he pressed his lips in a line up the side of her neck, lingering over the sensitive spot just below her ear before licking and nipping at her earlobe. His breath was warm on her ear as it became its own erotic caress. "You are so beautiful like this, my Molly, tied up and at my mercy." His fingers returned to breasts, teasing her nipples. "It is all I can do not to just force your legs wide apart and take you hard right now."

Suddenly, she couldn't think of anything but how much she wanted him to do just that. "God, yes, do it."

His gentle laugh sent pleasant chills up her spine, but at the same time reinforced that without a doubt, he was the one in charge. "Now, now, Molly, I don't believe that you are in any position to give me orders. You may try begging for what you want, if you wish. I do like hearing you beg for me to pinch your nipples harder," which he did, but not for long enough, his fingers dropping lower to her pelvis and gently pressing down to still her unconscious movements, "or to lick your clit until you come," he said, lightly running the pads of his long fingers against that very spot. The sensation of him holding her down and touching her clit brought her mind immediately back to the lab, when he made her come with those strong but agile fingers. Molly opened her legs, trying to entice him further. When his fingers dipped to her opening, she knew he could feel how very wet she had become, but he pulled his hand away after only a few seconds, leaving her frustratingly unfulfilled. She whimpered at lack of contact.

Molly heard the unmistakable sound of Sherlock licking her juices from his fingertips with an appreciative sigh just before he kissed her deeply, traces of her lingering on his lips and tongue. "Can you taste how sweet you are? Why I can't get enough of you?" He waited for her response, not touching her.

"Yes," she said, squirming when he didn't resume. "Please touch me. I need you. Please," she implored, arching her back towards him, increasingly desperate for his affection.

He deliberately held off answering her plea, letting her frustration build. Finally, he touched both of her nipples and she nearly sobbed with relief. "Thank you," she murmured several times, not wanting him to stop.

Sherlock kissed her again. "Very good, my little sub. You have learned how much I like hearing you ask me for what you want, what you need, how you like to be touched." he whispered against her lips, "and more importantly, that I often reward good behavior." He let his words sink in before he took both hardened nipple between the flat side of his index finger and the pad of his thumb, squeezed and twisting slightly until she moaned. "Mmm… your nipples are so sensitive. That pleases me. I know you like it when I pinch them like this." He added slightly more pressure, pulling them slowly up and away from her body as he watched her reaction carefully.

"Yes… oh, yes…" she breathed, the sensation almost too much for her. It finally forced her to be still and wait for Sherlock to decide what he would do to her next, as she was unable, and more importantly, unwilling to escape from him and those lovely fingers. She dreamt of feeling them against her bare skin for so long, but the reality so much better.

"Do you want to use your safe word?" He held her there as she tried to process what she was feeling, her brain unable to decide if this was intensely pleasurable or somewhat painful.

"No," she finally decided, and with a slight twist of his wrist, she was overwhelmed beyond thinking. Her nipples throbbed, but then a slow burning sensation built there that radiated straight down to her clit. It did hurt, but it also felt so good to give herself over to it, to him, to show him what she would do to please him.

"That's it, that's my girl. I'm so proud of you." He slowly twisted the opposite direction. "Give into it. Don't fight the pain." She could feel the first stirrings of her orgasm gathering in her pelvis, but she desperately wanted pressure on her clit so she could come. "Tell me how it feels, Molly," he said, the order implicit in his tone while not being too harsh.

"It hurts," she said, squeezing her eyes shut more tightly under the blindfold, "but I want to come." She had no idea why or how she'd come to this point, especially with a man she always thought didn't give her femininity a second thought, but the need to come kept getting stronger. "Please, Sherlock, please let me come." She threw her head back and tried to clench her thighs together repeatedly, but no matter what she did, she couldn't get the correct angle.

Sherlock watched her as she thrashed, desperate for him, desperate to come, even though her erratic motions were sending extra waves of pain through her nipples. She could not have been more perfect in her surrender, he thought, trying to ignore the throbbing demands of his cock. This was all about her, showing her their future, how he could give her pleasure no one else could. He wanted her to understand how beautiful she was and how much he wanted her, but most of all, he wanted to feel close to her, closer than he'd ever felt to anyone in his life, and not just physically.

"Please, Sherlock, I need you."

He released her nipples suddenly and pushed her thighs apart, burying two fingers inside of her, finding her more than ready for him. Molly cried out as the blood returned to her nipples, momentarily intensifying both the pleasure and the pain, but she was past the point of really being able to differentiate between the two. Sherlock's mouth soon covered her right nipple, soothing it with broad flicks of his tongue just as he pulled his fingers nearly all the way out, hovering at her opening. She whimpered and begged as he tongued the left peak, then forced three long fingers all the way inside of her tight cunt, the heel of his hand grinding perfectly against her clit as she rotated her hips.

"Now come for me," he commanded, his voice thick with his own desire as he watched the orgasm overtake her. He'd never seen anything so beautiful. "Yes, that's it," he encouraged her. "Let me hear you."

Molly screamed, her inner walls contracting around his fingers, which he used to push against her G-spot. He held her there at the peak of pleasure, rubbing her clit as she cried out for him, every muscle in her body tense and straining against her bonds and his hand. As soon Sherlock sensed her starting to relax, he applied more pressure to that sensitive bundle of nerves deep inside of her, rotating his fingertips against it, then he pressed the palm of his other hand just above her pubic bone, gently forcing her down onto those fingers.

It was too much, she couldn't even breathe as the white-hot ecstasy swallowed her again, the entirety of her world confined to the throbbing in her nipples, Sherlock's fingers stretching her, and the knowledge that she was completely helpless to resist him and whatever he wanted to do to her. Far from being frightened by that, she wished he would never, ever stop.

Sherlock expertly kept her there at her peak. Finally forced to breathe, Molly screamed for him, but he didn't relent as she cried out again and again, pulling in short, jagged breaths in between as she thrashed. He adjusted the angle of his arm so he could thrust his fingers in and out of her at the same time he covered her clit with his mouth and sucked hard, lowering himself to his knees at the side of the bed. He held her trembling thighs apart, opening her further, knowing the change in sensation would prolong her orgasm, and he was rewarded with a small gush of fluid that he eagerly lapped up. The sight of her writhing in pleasure, the sweetness of her juices on his tongue, and the sound of her calling his name made it impossible for him to hold off on his own release.

He had wanted to wait, to deny himself in favor of her needs, but he finally admitted his weakness. He slid his free hand past the elastic waistband and with only three short tugs he came, spilling hot come in thick jets all over his hand and the silk pants. He was careful not to abdicate his responsibility to Molly, continuing to fuck her with his fingers and his mouth as he came, needing her to know he was still there with her.

Just when Molly thought she was finally coming down from that mind-blowing orgasm, the vibration of Sherlock's mouth against her hypersensitive clit, the sound of his moans through his release forced her body over the edge again, and she rode it out with soft gasps, too weak to fight against it.

When Sherlock's hand finally stilled, he pressed a gentle kiss to her clit and withdrew his fingers slowly, resting his head on the cool satin sheets next to her as he took a moment to recover. Molly went limp with exhaustion, convinced she must be drifting in and out of consciousness or perhaps just sleep. She wanted to touch him, to somehow return the favor, but her body simply would not cooperate. She couldn't even bring her legs back up onto the bed on her own, much less form any sort of coherent plan as to how to repay him.

She drifted back to consciousness just as a warm cloth wiped between her legs. When he was finished, Sherlock picked her up and resettled her comfortably in his bed. He slid up her body, checking her skin temperature as he went, and pulled the satin duvet over them both. He was still quite warm, but her body had cooled more quickly, as he expected, and he wanted her warm and comfortable as she slept. He slipped off her blindfold, discarding it over the edge of the bed, then untied her wrists and rubbed the length of her arms as he returned them to her sides. He drank most of the bottle of water he had left on the nightstand earlier, and normally he would insist that she drink some as well, but he couldn't bear to disturb her. She was completely spent, which made Sherlock very pleased indeed. Finally, he laid down on his side and pulled her back against his chest.

She snuggled into him with a contented sigh. "I love you, Sherlock." she said sleepily.

"And I love you, my sweet Molly," he whispered, kissing her shoulder once before she drifted back into a peaceful sleep. Sherlock watched her for the next hour, wondering how she found the courage to love someone so broken. While he couldn't quiet the deep and constant fear that he would inevitably do something wrong, something that would push her away for good, he knew with complete certainty that he had never been so happy in his entire life.


	6. Chapter 6

A/N: Thanks to all my lovely reviewers. Your words keep me motivated.

If you've reached the point in this story where you haven't figured out it contains consensual BDSM, you haven't been paying attention. Now on to the spanking!

Chapter 6

While he did manage a few hours of sleep, Sherlock spent most of the night watching Molly sleep, cradled against his chest, an occasional smile crossing her perfect lips when she stirred. His low words and his hand rubbing over the small of her back seemed to settle her easily. Sherlock found himself surprised at how happy he was just to be with her, touching her, feeling her soft skin and memorizing her delicate scent.

He thought about going to her flat to retrieve clean clothes, but he couldn't bear to leave her. If she woke and found him gone she would worry, and he knew that in spite of the physical pleasure he'd given her, she was at a precarious point mentally. He had been so desperate for her, he may have pushed her too far. A day ago, she didn't even understand that she had a submissive side, much less how much he cared for her. She didn't know that he thought of frequently throughout his long absence, imagining all the ways that he would touch her, how she would sound as she came, how she might feel in his arms. At first he considered the thoughts just meaningless fantasies brought on by the long periods of isolation combined with frequent idleness as he waited for his informants to bring him something he could act on, but as time wore on, he found himself replaying his memories of her shy smile, her gentle touches on his arm, and how she believed in him when everyone else doubted. He frequently wondered if she was happy, if she'd moved on with her life, or if she had married. Spying on her, even through his homeless network, could have put her in danger.

Finally, at six a.m., he knew he had to wake her. He had already showered and dressed, knowing that if they showered together, Molly would be very late for work and they would certainly not be dressed when John returned. He kissed her cheek, then the side of her neck, and finally the swell of her breasts as he pulled the sheet down slowly. He tried to keep his body's reactions in check and resist the urge to take her one final time before she left his bed, but he couldn't stop himself from getting hard at the site of her naked in his arms. Denying himself release was nothing new to him, he reminded himself, and he knew that she would likely be too uncomfortable today to welcome his attentions. It proved very difficult to resist his little pathologist.

"Molly, my love, it's time to wake up," he whispered, kissing the edge of her ear. She stretched, then cuddled closer to him with a contented sigh, resting her small hand against his chest. "As much as I would love for you to stay in bed with me all day, you have to be at work in an hour."

Her eyes slowly fluttered open and she looked up at him, giving him a slightly embarrassed smile before biting her lower lip. "Maybe I could call in sick. I have weeks and weeks of sick time accumulated."

"No, no," he said, kissing her shoulder. "I think your body needs some time to recover, and we both need lab tests."

"Lab tests? For what?"

"I think we would both like to dispense with the condoms, yes? Or were you planning on defying me by seeing other men in the future? You know I can't allow that."

Molly blushed. "Of course not. I only want you."

"Good," he said, rolling on top of her and pinning her wrists down on either side of her head. He kissed her deeply, forcing his tongue past her lips. Sherlock nearly changed his mind about giving her a day off when he felt her surrender so easily and so naturally to him, spreading her legs and opening her mouth to him. It was all he could do to roll off the bed on the other side of her and pull her up with him. "You make it very difficult for me to control myself, Molly," he growled into her ear. "I want to bend you over the bed and take you hard and fast until you come, screaming my name." He put his hands on her ass and pulled her against him so she could feel how hard he was for her.

"Please do," said Molly, now fully awake and rubbing pelvis against him.

Sherlock breathed in the scent of her hair, and twined a strand of it around his finger. "Oh, I will," he said, licking the rim of her ear before stepping back, "but not this morning. I just wanted to give you something to look forward to."

"Tease," she said, pouting.

"Oh, you have no idea. I plan to keep you wet and hungry for me." He patted the bare skin of her ass three times with the open palm of his hand, just enough to remind her while still being a pleasurable caress. "And don't think I've forgotten about your spanking."

She looked up at him then, but her expression was only slightly anxious, not afraid.

He let the back of his fingers slide over her tender nipples. "Did you enjoy yourself last night, Molly? Mixing a little pain with the pleasure?" he asked, dropping his voice into that low, seductive range that made her melt.

"You know I did, Sherlock." She gave him that shy smile that he loved, biting her lower lip. "It has been, by far, the best day of my life. And I don't just mean the absolutely mind blowing sex with you," she said, resting her head on his chest and her hands on his back.

They held each other in silence for a few minutes. "Molly… I'm sorry, about before I… when I left…."

"It's okay, I know. You don't have to say it," she said, listening to the reassuring sound of his heartbeat.

"Thank you." He could feel tears welling up in his eyes for the first time since the rooftop. "I don't deserve you, you know."

She reached up to take his face in her hands, brushing a still-damp curl from his forehead, then raised herself on her tiptoes. "So that's why you won't let me touch you." Her kiss was light and undemanding, but conveyed her love more clearly than any words. Sherlock suddenly understood how Molly must have felt all those times he voiced his observations about her. It was… discomforting. She didn't miss the slight bristling of his posture, however. "You don't need to say anything, Sherlock. I spent years feeling unworthy of you as well, but now that we are here, at this point where you can accept that I love you and you can love me back… nothing else matters. Okay?" She put her head back down on his chest then let out a breath she didn't realize she was holding. Sherlock wrapped his arms tightly around her back, holding her close.

% % % % %

Sherlock tinkered with his various experiments throughout the day but Molly could feel his eyes on her frequently. While she made him promise that he would not seduce her at work again (the thought of Mike Stamford or anyone else walking in on them was just too much), Sherlock did go out of his way to touch her while they worked. Sometimes it was just a simple squeeze of her hand or his body brushing against hers as they worked, but Molly was impressed at the care he took to reassure her that what had happened between them was not an anomaly.

"Perhaps it would be better to stay at your place," Sherlock said to her that evening, giving the taxi driver her address. "John will be home tonight." He leaned over until his lips touched her ear and he whispered, "Unless you want him to hear."

Molly was mortified. "Oh, my God, Sherlock! Of course not!"

He looked mischievously thoughtful for a moment. "Then I will have to buy you a gag," he whispered. "You're quite the screamer." Shocked, she blushed furiously, which made all of the blood rush to Sherlock's cock. He laughed. "Oh, Molly," he put his arm around her shoulder and pulled her close, "do you have any idea what you do to me?"

"I'm beginning to," she said with a smile, resting her head on his chest. "But I think you'll need to remind me again." They stayed like that for the last few minutes of the ride to her flat.

Once inside, Molly set down her bag and headed for her room to change. Sherlock walked around her flat, studying the details, much to Molly's discomfort but there was no point in arguing with him. He would do it whether she approved or not.

When Sherlock opened the door to her bedroom, Molly nearly screamed. It was different at his flat; she wasn't used to having Sherlock Holmes barge into her room without knocking while she was clad only in her bra and knickers, and sit down on her bed, looking quite pleased with himself. "We have dinner reservations at eight," he said with a nonchalance that convinced Molly he'd planned the entire evening.

Molly stopped and stared at him. "You're taking me out to dinner? Like on a date?" Why did that sound so strange to her, she wondered?

He looked at her with a puzzled expression. "I thought you would be pleased."

"I am… I just didn't expect it." She sat down next to him on the bed.

"Dinner is what 'normal couples' do, isn't it?"

Molly took his hand and held it in her lap, staring at it like she still couldn't believe she was allowed to touch him. "Is that what we are, Sherlock?" she said, hesitantly.

He sighed and held her hand more firmly. "This isn't about dinner," he stated simply. He tilted her chin up towards him, but she couldn't bear to look at him. "You still think that I want only a sexual relationship." Did he actually sound… hurt?

Molly shrugged. "I think I'm feeling a little overwhelmed by all of this. Honestly, before you left, you told me not to bother even trying to have a relationship with anyone because I wasn't any good at it. Then I didn't hear a word from you for so many months that I worried constantly that you had died somewhere out there, cold and alone, and no one had found your body. I cried over your empty grave, Sherlock, far too many times to count. Then you just reappear, acting like nothing's changed, and all of a sudden I'm in your bed and you're telling me you love me. I think part of me is still waiting for the winds to blow the other way, and I don't think I could bear your indifference again. It would kill me."

Sherlock unbuttoned his shirt unceremoniously then wrapped his arms about her and pulled her against his chest, laying down fully on the bed. He rubbed her back lightly as he spoke, knowing how much she needed the skin to skin contact even if she didn't. "It was too dangerous for you to contact you while I was away. I know that I have said things in the past to you that I regret. I have been unkind to you, even cruel, as you put it, and I used to flatter you to get what I wanted, but I have never lied to you. Not once."

Some of the tension went out of her shoulders. "No, I suppose not," she said quietly, clearly thinking too hard.

"Then tell me what I must do. I'm not like other people, Molly. I don't know how to have a relationship, but I want to make you happy. I planned to take you to dinner at a very fine restaurant, I'll have you know. The owner promised to go out of his way to make it an exceptionally romantic experience, as I once made sure compromising photographs of him and a certain, unnamed male member of the aristocracy were not published in the tabloids. Then I thought I would bring you home and give you a massage. What did I do wrong?"

That made Molly giggle and finally look up at him. "You were going to stoop to doing something as mundane as buying me dinner and giving me a massage? You, Sherlock Holmes, the greatest mind the world has ever seen? Really?"

Sherlock looked insulted at her giddiness and stared at her with his signature disapproving glare. "The sharing of food and participation in a glorified grooming ritual such as massage are both well-established means of affirming social bonds as well as integral components of all primate mating rituals."

"Well, when you put it that way, what girl wouldn't want to sign on?" Molly could barely control her laughter. She knelt mischievously on the bed next to him, sitting back on her heels as a new thought struck her. "Ooo…are we going to have caveman sex after that? You could grab me by my ponytail," she said playfully.

"You're mocking me," Sherlock pouted, trying to hide his own smile at seeing her so pleased with herself. He loved the sound of her laughter, even when it was directed at him.

"Just a bit, yeah," she said, scooting back from him slightly. Teasingly, she said, "What are you going to do about it, hmm?" She leaned down onto her hands as if inviting him to come and play.

He was on her in a second, dragging her across his lap by her wrists, which he secured in his right hand while using the other to pull down her knickers. He landed the first slap on her bare bottom before she had a chance to register what was happening. It wasn't hard enough to really hurt, just to sting slightly. She squirmed but the second blow came quickly, this one a little harder. "Stay still or use your safe word," he growled at her, his voice full of desire. Sliding his palm roughly against her ass, he waited for her answer. After only a few seconds of hesitation, she dropped her head and quieted. For her reward, Sherlock licked his finger and slid it between her legs, finding her clit easily and rubbing small circles over it until she sighed in pleasure.

The next two slaps were hard enough to make her gasp, but he soothed her blushing backside with his hand momentarily before returning his attention to her clit. He repeated the process twice more, keeping her teetering between pleasure and the mild discomfort which was quickly turning to a slow and steady burn that seemed to bring her closer to the point of orgasm much faster than she expected. He paused to take in the sight of her across his lap, getting wetter as she anticipated each blow. His voice was gentler as he slid two fingers in and out of her tight cunt. "You are so beautiful like this, Molly. Now keep your hands still, right where they are." She complied as Sherlock saw the tell-tale signs of slipping deeper into her submission. He released her hands as he applied pressure to her G-spot, making her moan and clench her muscles tighter around his fingers. "Do you want to come, my love?"

"Yes, please."

He withdrew his fingers slowly, leaving her feeling very empty as she tried to push her hips up to find the contact she needed so desperately. Three more sharp blows followed, harder than the ones he'd previously given her. "Relax, Molly, don't fight the pain. Give it to it like you give in to me," he soothed her.

"It hurts," she said meekly.

Three fingers penetrated her, stretching her in spite of her soreness there, but finding her so wet and ready for him. "I know, but you are doing so well. I can feel how close you are." His fingers found her G-spot again, pressing short, quick circles against it until she was teetering on the precipice.

He removed his fingers again, letting her hear him suck her juices from them. "Four more and you can come, but each one will be harder than the last." If she'd been able to think past the magic his fingers had worked, she might have complained, but she was lost to the flood of new sensations. "Do not come without permission. Do you understand?"

The next spank landed and made her gasp. "I asked you a question, Molly," he said sternly.

"I understand!" she cried out after the next one. He found her dripping, and used her own lubrication to slide his fingers over her clit until he felt her fighting the inevitable orgasm. "I need… I need…."

Sherlock dipped his fingers inside of her again. "Tell me."

"I don't know." She moaned and tried to squeeze her legs together, but the angle was all wrong.

"Spread your legs for me," he ordered, exerting pressure on her inner thighs. "Now turn your heels out." It took her a second to process what he wanted through the endorphin-fueled haze. "Do it now," he commanded without raising his voice.

She complied and let her head fall forward again, steeling herself for the final few.

"Very good," he praised, rubbing his palm against her overheated ass cheeks, leaving her wondering when he would resume the spanking. "You feel very exposed and vulnerable now, don't you?" He resumed the slow, light touches over her clit, but they were only enough to keep her close, not enough to make her come.

"God, yes. Please make me come, I'm so close, Sherlock," she was starting to become more frantic, trying to grind her hips against his thighs to find her release, but he would have none of it. He held her down with his forearm across her back, then struck her twice more in quick succession, the sound echoing off the walls of her bedroom. She was whimpering from the pain, the frustration of not being allowed to come, and from the realization that she craved the next smack of his hand desperately.

He kept her right at the brink. "Please… please…" she was barely able to form the words between breaths. "Please may I come?"

"Since you asked so nicely, come _now,_" he commanded, the final slap of his hand landing across her exposed cunt and clit, eliciting a sharp cry from her followed by a long moan as his fingers expertly brought her the pressure she so desperately needed. She forgot to breathe as the white-hot pleasure swallowed her whole, rising up in wave after wave, not only from her clit but from the stinging of her ass and the firm pressure of his arm as he held her down. Sherlock's deep voice was there the whole time, encouraging her, telling her how beautiful she was as he wrung every last scream of pleasure from her. Each time she thought she might be near the end, he pushed her higher, forcing his fingers deeper inside her, finding her G-spot, then dragging his tongue over her reddened ass, nipping at the hypersensitive skin there.

When she finally came back to reality, she was lying in bed, curled up against Sherlock's chest and held securely in his arms. He kissed her forehead tenderly while his fingertips ghosted over her bare back then down to her warm ass, then back up. She still felt like she was floating as she drifted off to sleep.


	7. Chapter 7

Chapter 7

Sherlock insisted that they proceed with his prosaic plans, so at precisely eight o'clock they were seated in a private room at one of London's most expensive restaurants. Red rose petals decorated the table and a single red rose was draped across Molly's plate, its perfume permeating the entire room. Soft violin music accompanied the candlelight and Molly suspected that Sherlock had picked out the music personally, though the rest was no doubt arranged by someone else. Strangely, the thought that he had delegated the romantic responsibilities to someone else didn't bother her, the mere fact he'd even considered it was enough.

To her surprise, Molly found that she was able to sit, albeit with some slight discomfort which garnered her a small smirk from Sherlock's lips as he noticed her shifting in her seat. He studied the menu dutifully. "Is something wrong, Molly?" He used that clinically detached voice he often used in the lab, the one that hinted at his mild annoyance, whether it was sincere or not. It was the voice that made her want to break through that icy calm exterior and discover what lay beneath, even more so now that she knew what he concealed.

"You know very well what is wrong," she said, trying to sound equally remote, but failing miserably and allowing herself to fall into a fit of giggling. Their private room and very discrete staff allowed them the freedom to speak and Molly took full advantage of it. She leaned over and whispered in Sherlock's ear, "I am probably too sore to ever have sex with you again." She enjoyed his look of shock. "Whatever will we do with our time?"

His hand found its way onto her thigh and slid under the hem of her dress even while he continued to peruse the menu without interruption. "I see. What would you like?"

She wasn't sure if he meant for dinner or… later. She took a deep breath and steadied herself, trying to sound nonchalant. She glanced towards the doorway, very grateful that the table linens were floor-length and conveniently placed. "Salad, then the salmon I think. After coffee we will go home, where I plan to tie you up and have my way with you."

His hand made its way further up her leg, under her knickers, and brushed against her clit. "Hmm… That is not how this works," he said in that silky-smooth voice that he knew made her shiver. "If there is something you want to do, you may ask me for it. Better yet," he said, setting down the menu and whispering in her ear, "beg. You know how I like hearing you beg." He very lightly rubbed her clit, careful of how tender she'd become with all of his previous attention. "But if anyone is going to be tied up, it is going to be you, my love."

Molly closed her eyes and nearly moaned just as the waiter entered. Sherlock's very talented fingers didn't hesitate, didn't pause, as he spoke to the waiter about various wines before settling on something, the specifics of which Molly was oblivious to given that all of her attention was directed at staying still and quiet. That task proved increasingly difficult the longer Sherlock's inquisition of the waiter continued.

"Miss?" The waiter looked at her expectantly, like it wasn't the first time that he had asked for her order.

"Go ahead," Sherlock urged gently, seductively, his voice low and full of dark promises. "Don't keep him waiting." It was getting harder and harder to maintain her composure as she fell closer and closer towards release.

"House salad, and um… ah… salmon."

"Very good," the waiter said with a nod before he left.

"Sherlock…" Molly closed her eyes and spread her legs further apart, and she was rewarded with one of Sherlock's fingers slipping inside of her.

"Yes, Molly?" he asked innocently. Even with her eyes closed, she knew he was smirking at her, the corner of his mouth upturned in that decadent half-smile. She felt his breath tickle her ear as he said, "do you want to come already? Here, in a restaurant, where anyone could walk into this room as see you flushed and breathless?" A second finger easily joined the first as she was so wet. She was close; she could feel her muscles clenching around his fingers, trying to draw him in further, all the while small whimpers escaped from her lips. "Are you going to scream when you come, my sweet Molly? Shall we let our young waiter hear you?"

Molly shook her head, but her body had already made up its mind; there was no stopping the upcoming orgasm. Her whimpers turned to a nearly constant moan.

Sherlock's voice changed from teasing to commanding in a heartbeat. "Do not come. You do not have my permission, do you understand? Let me see you fight it."

Her eyes flew open and her eyes met his, her lips slightly parted with unspoken frustration. "I can't… I'm too close…."

"You can, and you will," he said with a tone that made it clear he expected her to obey, but his thumb rubbed harder against her clit. She tried to distract herself, to think about anything else except the feel of Sherlock's hand hitting all the right places, playing her body masterfully. "Watch me, Molly. Don't look away from my eyes," he ordered, and she found herself obeying him automatically. She'd always had trouble holding his gaze before. It made her feel like he saw every one of her flaws, but this time his command made it easier, knowing that he wanted to see her this way.

Their waiter chose that moment to deliver their salads. Neither broke eye contact while the plates were set in front of them and just as Molly's concentration faltered, she let out a moan and clenched her eyes shut. Sherlock used his free hand to grip the back of her neck and pull her mouth forcefully towards his. His kiss was possessive and forceful, and she melted into it as he swallowed her small cries of pleasure as she came against his fingers, drenching them in her juices.

Sherlock knew the waiter had gone from the room with some haste as soon as he kissed her, but he doubted Molly was aware of that fact, and he found himself fascinated at her complete surrender to him. She could have used her safe word or given him some indication that she wanted him to stop long before that time, but her desire to please him and be pleased by him had overridden her deeply ingrained self-consciousness.

As she steadied herself, her palms flat on the table and her eyes closed, Sherlock wondered how he could have been so blind to her for so long. He supposed it was habit mixed with his conscious desire to avoid any attachment, let alone love, but her quiet acceptance of everything he was pierced his formidable defenses. He felt incredibly privileged to be the recipient of her trust, and at the same time, completely unworthy of it.

He held her close and kissed her temple lightly as he withdrew his hand from her. She shifted slightly and whimpered at the loss, which made her even more beautiful in her vulnerability, trusting him fully to care for her in every way. While he admitted to himself that he was in love with her many months ago, he had never felt so completely overpowered by it. He loved her more in that very moment that he ever thought he was capable of, and the enormous responsibility of it frightened him. Was he even equipped, socially or emotionally, to deal with this? Was he cheating Molly out of the life she deserved?

Being a professional dominant meant having clear boundaries: he was expected to maintain an emotional distance, which suited him very well. His clients provided him with a mutually beneficial arrangement where he deduced and produced their deepest and darkest fantasies while their money provided him with a steady supply of heroin. Now he had enemies, true enemies who would not hesitate to use Molly against him or even to kill her. What if they had children, which he knew Molly wanted?

Previously, Sherlock had pacified himself with the assumption that in spite of his best efforts and his desire to the contrary, Molly would soon tire of him once he provided the realization of her fantasies, then move on to someone more suited to raising a family and working "normal" hours. Someone who was not him. He had been thoroughly convinced that in spite of his good intentions, he would have "thoroughly mucked this up", as John would say, long before now. If he was completely honest with himself, he could admit that he had expected her to accuse him of pushing her too fast, of violating some boundary sexually that she would find unforgivable, or more likely, that after the initial joy of having her heart's desire wore off, she would finally _see_ him. She should blame him for all of the shortcomings that would inevitably be illuminated in the harsh light of day once the haze of endorphins had passed.

But here she was, in his arms, willing to do_ anything_ he asked of her. Never once had it crossed her mind to deny him in any way, not before the revelation of his feelings for her and certainly not after. Perhaps she just needed more time to come to the same foregone conclusion. Yes, it would hurt him deeply when she left, but people like him didn't deserve to be happy. Not really.

He held her tenderly, like she were priceless and fragile as her breathing slowed and she finally opened her eyes. "What's wrong?" she asked him carefully. "You're trembling."

He'd thought it was her, given the circumstances, but she was correct he abruptly realized. "Am I?" He tried to pull back slightly to cover for his unintentional display of weakness.

"Sherlock, please don't hide from me, not anymore. I can't bear it." She grasped his hand gently, and he tried to return the gesture, but the doubt had already taken hold. It was just a matter of time.

While he considered her words, he sank back into the seat and tried to calm his racing thoughts. Could he really perpetuate the lie any longer? How could he have ever thought he could make her happy? He'd never mastered the task John so often assigned him of not being himself. "Molly," he said seriously and she watched as his too-familiar walls began to close in around him.

"No, Sherlock, don't…" Her fingers worried at the back of his hand and he could feel her anxiety building to match his own. "Please, I know I came without permission, and I'm sorry. I couldn't help it. I tried. I will make it up to you, I swear I will. You can tell me how, can't you? You can do anything you want to me. I won't stop you or use my safe word… you can just get it out of your system and we'll be okay again," said Molly, nearly frantic. "If I wasn't good enough..."

"God, no," he said, pulling her tightly against him with a desperate intensity that only worried her more. "I am not angry with you, only myself." He inhaled the smell of her skin and closed his eyes, temporarily struck by the knowledge that it was that scent, _her_ scent, which now permeated every hallway of his mind palace. "I love you so much, Molly, and I am not certain how to process that."

"I love you too, Sherlock." She kissed him on the lips briefly, then settled her head on his shoulder. They sat in silence like that for several minutes, until the waiter returned to inquire if there was a problem with their meals.

"No, sorry," Molly answered, seeing that Sherlock was lost in thought. "They're fine." She took a bite to prove her point and seemingly satisfied, the man left without another word. Turning back to Sherlock, she said, "I can help you through the emotional part, the relationship, if you will let me. I know that really hasn't been your thing in the past…" She waited for him to say something, anything, but she was left wondering if he'd even heard her. She disentangled her hand from his. "It's okay, I mean I understand if it's still not your thing…I will just…" Her long-standing nerves around him made a rapid reappearance.

"Yes," was all Sherlock said, staring straight ahead.

Molly had already gotten used to the idea of him rejecting "sentiment" with her when he said the word. "What?" She asked, incredulous.

He turned and gave her the playful smile that had always made her melt. "Yes, mistress?" She giggled and squirmed in his arms, the tension between them evaporating instantly. When they finally settled down, Sherlock suggested they eat their salads before the waiter became cross.

"So," Molly began, "if we are going to have a serious relationship, Sherlock, then we need to be honest and open with each other, wouldn't you agree?"

Sherlock studied her for a moment, and it was all she could do not to look away as she had so many times before. "You are going to ask me questions I do not want to answer."

"Well, yes," Molly admitted since there was no point in denying it. "But sharing our past helps us get to know each other better, and we are hardly secret-free with regard to each other, are we? Understanding each other better is important if we plan to have something more intimate than just the incredible, amazing, mind blowing sex."

"Ah, so you are enjoying that part?" He licked the tines of his fork, delighted at the effect it had on his pathologist. She was blushing. After all they had done together, he loved that he could still make her blush with a simple word or gesture.

"It doesn't take someone of your, um, considerable skills to realize that not only have I been enjoying every second, I think everyone within a kilometer knows that too. But you can't get out of every uncomfortable conversation with me, every time that you feel insecure, by seducing me or switching the topic to sex."

"But you make it so easy, Molly," he said with a smile, considering doing just that. She tried for her best disappointed glare at him, but he brushed it off easily.

"Alright then, you can ask me first, anything you want to know," she said confidently.

"I know everything about you that I need to," he replied quickly.

"Yet here you are, having dinner with me even after you solved every one of my mysteries? I doubt that. You'd be bored."

Sherlock paused and just stared at her for a moment, wondering when he'd become so transparent. "Very well, ask," he said finally.

"Really?" She stared at him, incredulous that he would give in so easily.

He would not remind her that every time he had asked her such things, or let her know what he had learned from her, he had hurt her. Doing that to her again was unthinkable, even if it meant telling her things he never wished to speak of again.

"Alright," Molly said happily, taking a bite of her salad. "Why are you and your brother so cross with each other?"

Sherlock said, "He blames me for the death of our parents," as if that were sufficient explanation.

She took his hand. "I'm sorry, I didn't know. But why would Mycroft blame you? It's not like you killed them." Sherlock said nothing and Molly suddenly became more anxious. "Did you?"

"I heard arguing in the study late one night. That by itself was nothing new, in fact, it was a regular occurrence during my childhood, but it was my mother's screams that made me investigate further. Father accused her of disobeying him by buying me particular chemicals and an infrared spectrometer for my research, and he was beating her with his fists when I entered the room. Mother was nearly unconscious by that point, but motioned to me to leave. Obviously, I refused. While I would never describe my relationship with her as loving, she seemed to favor me over Mycroft, who was Father's favorite, while I was merely a disappointment as I had no inclination to follow in his footsteps like my dear brother did."

Molly couldn't believe that Sherlock would tell her such things. She had never heard him speak of his childhood before this, not once, and now she began to realize why. She kept quiet, still holding his hand, but afraid that if she said anything, did anything, that she would ruin the moment of Sherlock's revelation.

"I instructed him to stop his assault. He turned to me and said, 'this is all your fault, Sherlock. She has defied me for the last time.' Then he reached for his cricket bat. I should not have hesitated, but I was afraid of him, as he made a habit out of beating me as well as Mummy. Father was not a man who forgave easily, and I knew he would turn on me if I attempted to interfere any further while he struck her several times. The sound of her skull cracking caused me to act. I took the small knife from his desk, the one he used to open letters, and I stabbed him with it three times, puncturing both of his lungs and lacerating his aorta." Molly's flinch did not keep him from finishing, as Sherlock knew she had seen and heard far worse during her career. "He did not expect me to intervene and therefore he had turned his back, but I knew enough anatomy at that time to ensure my attacks were efficacious. He turned and tried to strike me as well, but I was smaller and more agile, enabling me to avoid the blows, and a short time later he collapsed. Mycroft entered just after I had removed the cricket bat from Father's hand, and he found me holding the bloody knife and bat. Mummy was already dead by that point, and Father died shortly thereafter."

When Sherlock paused, he did not look directly at Molly, but instead focused on the wall in front of him. "God, Sherlock, I had no idea. I'm so sorry you had to go through that." When he didn't respond at all, she asked, "How old were you?"

"Eleven." He pulled his hand back and ate a bite of his salad with a totally blank expression on his face. Molly didn't know if he was just suppressing the emotions of the memory or if he truly felt nothing at all.

"So Mycroft blamed you for both deaths, even though you were only defending your mother."

"I believe I already stated that."

That was the Sherlock she had known for years. Maybe this wasn't such a good idea. "I'm sorry, Sherlock. I shouldn't have asked." They finished their salads in silence as she began to wonder if they would ever have anything like a normal relationship, one where they really could know and be completely comfortable with each other. She'd known for years that Sherlock must have suffered some sort of emotional trauma, likely repeatedly during his childhood, but this was worse than she had imagined. "It's alright if you don't want to tell me things but I'm sure you already know that I would never tell anyone."

Their waiter chose that moment to clear away their plates and serve their entrees. Once he was gone, Sherlock said, "Mycroft is nine years older. He was granted legal custody of me the promptly sent me to boarding school in Switzerland. I did not return to England until I entered Oxford at age sixteen. There, I was introduced to cocaine and heroin, to which I quickly became addicted. I left university after my third year as they had nothing else of interest to teach me, and I lived on the streets for the next five years, which provided me with an excellent working knowledge of the tunnels and abandoned buildings of London, the opportunity acquire skills such as breaking and entering, and form the first incarnation of my homeless network."

Molly was stunned at his matter-of-fact retelling of his life's events, without a trace of emotion, not even regret. She had seen him do the same with the victims of crimes as he described them and their last moments with a detachment that made people uncomfortable. She suddenly felt very sad for him that he'd been forced to learn how to lock himself away like that.

"Mycroft abducted me and forced me into various rehabilitation programs without success until he sought my help with the espionage matters he was too stupid or too lazy to resolve on his own. Several years later I came to the attention of the local police and eventually Scotland Yard, which suited me better, as I had no desire to follow along in the path that Mycroft and Father had so carefully laid out for me when I was a child. I believe you know the rest." Still without making eye contact with her, he picked up his knife and fork and began eating his chicken methodically, cutting each piece precisely while at the same time paying it scant attention.

"Sherlock?" Molly said carefully, not sure how to handle the situation. When he didn't respond, she considered texting John for advice, but thought better of it. She slid closer to him until their sides were touching then she rested her head on his chest and when he did not object, she put her arms around his waist. "It's okay, Sherlock. This doesn't change how I feel about you. I still love you, maybe even more since you trusted me enough to tell me these things. Everything that's happened to you in your life brought you to me, brought you to the point that you could love me, and let me love you."

He abruptly turned his body towards her and wrapped his arms around her, pulling her tightly to his chest as if he were desperate to keep her from leaving. He rested his cheek against the top of her head, and as they passed the next few minutes in silence, Molly thought she felt a few wet tears drop down onto her hair.


End file.
